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“IT REALLY ISN’T PRACTICAL TAKE MY WORD FOR IT.” 

{Page 39 . 




AN ORIGINAL 
GENTLEMAN 


BY 

ANNE WARNER 

" 


AUTHOR OF “THE REJUVENATION OF AUNT MARY,” “SUSAN CLEGG 
AND HER FRIEND MRS. LATHROP,” “SUSAN CLEGG AND 
A MAN IN THE HOUSE,” ETC. 


With a Frontispiece by 

ALICE BARBER STEPHENS 



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BOSTON 

LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY 

1908 



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Class XXu rte. 

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COPY A. 


Copyright , 1904, 1905, 1906, by Ainslie Magazine Co. ; 1904, by J. B. Lippin- 
cott Co. ; 1904, 1905, .by the Bed Book Corporation ; 1906, 1907, by Ess 
Ess Publishing Co. ; 1906, by D. Appleton & Co. ; 1906, by Associated 
Sunday Magazines Incorporated ; 1907, by S. II. Moore & Com- 
pany ; 1907, by P. F. Collier & Son ; 1907, by The Circle Pub- 


lishing Company, New York ; 1907, by The Town Topics 
Publishing Co. ; 1907, 1 . >08 , by The Crowell Publish- 


ing Company. 


Copyright , 1908, by Little, Brown , and Company. 


All rights reserved 


Published September, 1908. 


Electrotyped and Printed at 

THE COLONIAL PRESS: 
C.H.Simonds CO. Co., Boston, U.S. A. 


CONTENTS 


PAGK 

An Original Gentleman 1 

As Told by Renaud’s Wife 89 

Smoke or Fire? 103 

When Janet Comes Marching Home . . . .113 

The Twelve Little Broilers 125 

His Terrible Father .141 

The Reversed Love Letters 157 

The Bride’s Prevision 165 

Gaspard and His Wax Lady 179 

Her Husband 189 

Jane and Her Genius 199 

Bessie’s Mother 205 

Wilfred and His Grandmother 225 

The Cradle 231 

As Taught by Ellen 241 

His One and Only Meet 249 

The Adjusted Honeymoon 263 

Seeking Blindfolded 271 

The Winter of Their Discontent 291 

Frau a. D. 301 

“ Ee,” said ’Lizabet — “ Ee,” said Hans . . . 315 

Alpine Lights and Shadows 327 



AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 


i 

S T. ELOI had just gone out to telegraph the 
countess. The countess demanded a telegram 
assuring her of St. Eloi’s well-being every morning 
when he was too far away to come in his motor and 
assure her personally of the fact. What the countess 
demanded of St. Eloi she invariably got, for she was 
very charming and he was very much in love. Dago- 
bert was very much disgusted with his friend for 
being so much in love, because the countess was 
married and Dagobert’s own experience in life had 
lain mainly along courses which develop the muscles 
instead of the heart and lead to matches instead of 
to other men’s wives. He was a puritan by ancestry 
and his friend was a monarchist by the same token. 
He was American and the other man was French. 
The one was blond and the other dark. Indeed, 
everything was as different as different can be with 
the exception of a certain two years in the life of 
each, which two years had been spent at the same 
school in Ouchy and had resulted in so fast a friend- 


2 


AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 


ship that all their differences were continually re- 
bridged by its strength and solidity. 

When Dagobert, one week previous to the opening 
of my story, had finished doing up the English with 
his companion athletes he had felt a more tremendous 
longing for St. Eloi than for any further results of 
glory, and had crossed the channel at once in search 
of a happy reunion. He had not known that there was 
a countess then, but he happened to arrive in Paris 
the same day that the countess’s husband did the 
same thing, and it followed that, whatever St. Eloi 
might feel in his heart, there was for the time being 
no countess in his daily life. For M. le General (the 
count) was so fearfully jealous that even the count- 
ess agreed in the advisability of the two young men’s 
immediate departure for anywhere. Her hijsband 
had brought her eleven cases from Annam, and she 
felt able to be happy even though lonely. But she 
stipulated for the telegram daily — and she received 
it. 

“What a fool you are!” Dagobert (in bed) said 
to St. Eloi (in the large dressing-room that con- 
nected their sleeping-rooms). “ A married woman, 
too ! ” 

He spoke in German because they had agreed to 
speak the language of whatever country they were 
in, and they were now in Hanover. 

“ Ach, young one,” said St. Eloi, laughing, “ only 
wait — only wait ! ” 

“ Me ! ” said Dagobert, “ a married woman ! 
Never.” 

There were many huge and fundamental differ- 
ences between the two young men, as I already 


AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 


3 


pointed out, and in spite of their friendship their 
conversations were often hotly varied. To Dagobert, 
with his blunt American republicanism, there was 
something utterly silly in St. Eloi’s exquisitely 
courtly hypocrisy. 

“ If I ever kiss a woman’s hand I shall mean it,” 
he had declared upon the extremely early morning 
which had followed that extremely late night which 
had followed his latest arrival in Paris. 

“ Mon Dieu , and do you think that I don’t mean 
it? ” St. Eloi had asked in great astonishment. 
“ Mon cher, I always meant it — I began to mean it 
when I was too young to know what I meant.” 

Dagobert had laughed at that and they had forth- 
with retired to sleep it off. 

But the next day St. Eloi — after a most egregious 
speech at the door of the brougham of a great lady 
who had ceased to be beautiful before he was born 
— had felt some further explanation due to his 
friend’s tendency to sincerity. 

“ When I came to really love,” he had said, " I 
knew how to make her happy, for I was an adept at 
love-making.” 

Dagobert looked at him and said nothing. He 
had not then heard of Madame la Comtesse. 

“ You will halt and stumble,” St. Eloi continued. 
“ When you fall on your knees you will tear her 
lace.” 

“ She will see, at least, that I have never been in 
the habit of falling on my knees,” the other young 
man had replied. 

“ Pah, she will not think of that — she will think 
of her lace.” 


4 


AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 


“ Perhaps — if she is French,” the American had 
said. 

“ French,” the Frenchman had said. “ What has 
the country to do with it? It is the gown that will 
vex her — and the explanation to her husband.” 

“ To her husband ! ” cried Dagobert. “ Do you 
think I would make love to a married woman ? ” 

St. Eloi nodded. “ Of course,” he answered. 
“ Life would be too bete if it were not so.” 

Dagobert felt hotly, but refrained. St. Eloi was 
a “ liberal education ” indeed. 

A day later the countess in all her glory had burst 
upon them in the Bois, and the American, to his in- 
finite amazement, had not been able to rftake even a 
beginning at a proper tabulation of vices and virtues, 
when the pretty young woman had promptly deserted 
her carriage to walk between him and St. Eloi. 
Nothing could be more charming than her face, figure 
and fascinations. It caused one’s principles to crack 
at their base and settle into bewilderingly novel 
forms. But the day after when it rained and the 
general returned unexpectedly from Tonkin-China, 
and St. Eloi remade every plan that he had planned 
with a haste that was feverish — ah, then Dagobert’s 
conscience had its innings. On the Brussels train he 
even went so far as to discourse on various moral 
ideals to his friend and the latter seemed touched by 
his interest — even though he was writing a note in 
pencil on his knee at the same time. 

“ You are too sincere,” he said once, looking up 
most earnestly ; “ you are really clever — but too 
sincere.” 

Dagobert laughed at his tone of remonstrance. 


AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 5 

“ It is fortunate that you are of a country where 
there is only dishonesty — never diplomacy — for 
you could not be dishonest and you are not diplo- 
matic.” 

St. Eloi said these words with well-weighted em- 
phasis. 

u Am I not diplomatic with you P ” 

66 With me ! ” said St. Eloi, opening his eyes, “ but 
mon ami , one-half of the time I amuse you and the 
rest of the time you wish that you might despise me 
only that you like me much too well.” 

The words were so stunning in the conciseness 
of their exposition that for an instant Dagobert 
knew not what to say ; then he laughed. 

“ And yet I love you,” said St. Eloi, with a glance 
that nursed truth in its reflection, “ and I wish you 
might learn that a little graceful bending does only 
good to the straightest back. So ! ” 

After that their bon camaraderie had flowed on 
without a ripple until the day before the present day 
when they had arrived in Hanover and at once quar- 
reled over a Hanoverian princess who had been dead 
two hundred years, Dagobert standing up for the 
justice of her punishment and St. Eloi (who was 
becoming horribly lonesome for his countess) stand- 
ing up for the justice of her love. “ A brute for a 
husband,” he said, “ and of course, a lover always 
follows.” Which premise Dagobert, even though he 
now knew all about the countess himself, denied with 
fierceness. 

“ My friend,” said St. Eloi, “ you lead me to pray 
heartily that the first hand you may kiss will wear a 
wedding-ring.” 


6 AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 

Dagobert was so close to being really vexed that 
he would not trust himself to speak. 

“ You are young,” said St. Eloi, “ and extremely 
foolish. Theory and practice are indistinguishable 
to you. But wait ! ” 

“ Yes, I’ll wait,” said his friend, “ but you’ll see. 
A right-minded man in my country doesn’t fall in 
love with another man’s wife ” 

“ Except in the newspapers,” reminded St. Eloi. 

“ The set in the newspapers aren’t the whole coun- 
try; they’re a long way off.” 

“ They may be a long way off, but love is always 
near,” said the Frenchman. “You are young; you 
are seven months younger than I. Seven months ago 
I was as stupid as you are now. Yes — that’s true.” 

“ It’s a pity you didn’t stay so,” said Dagobert. 

“ A pity ! ” St. Eloi arose and went and locked 
out upon the Platz. “ A pity ! Oh, you stupid, 
stupid brute ! Only wait.” 

Then Dagobert had laughed and they had both 
undressed and gone to bed, being very tired from 
the journey. The next morning dawned beautifully 
and St. Eloi came out of the dressing-room at an 
early hour and went in among his own belongings. 

“ I’m off now,” he called presently, “ and from 
the consul’s office I go direct to Herrenhausen. 
What will you do? ” 

“ Go to the bank,” Dagobert called back. 

St. Eloi approached the connecting door. 

“ I think that you will need identification at the 
bank,” he said kindly. “ Better cash a cheque here 
in the hotel; they know me in the office. Or I’ll 
lend you some money.” 


AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 7 

“ I never borrow,” said Dagobert. “ I promised 
my father. I’ve a letter of credit, anyhow — I don’t 
bother with cheques. So that’s all straight.” 

“ Very good,” said St. Eloi, and departed. He was 
going away for the day and Dagobert was very glad, 
for he was thoroughly weary and turned over at once 
and went to sleep again. 

He did not waken until nearly noon, and then he 
remembered with a sudden coming to his senses that 
the German banks close between one and three. As 
a matter of fact, each German town is a law unto 
itself as to the time when its banks close, but he only 
recalled one occasion when he had arrived somewhere 
at one o’clock and been forced to remain poverty- 
stricken for two mortal hours. The vividness of 
his recollections prodded him to a more than ordina- 
rily hasty toilet and the instant that he was finished 
he sought his letter of credit. He had meant to go 
to the bank the afternoon before and had had the 
whole bill-book with him. He looked through the 
pockets of that suit, and the bill-book was gone. 

As soon as he fully realized what had occurred he 
instituted a search which has seldom been equaled 
and never surpassed as to thoroughness; and then 
when he was certain that the bill-book was gone he 
sank into a chair and sat there, staring and glaring 
— and would have been swearing, too, had he not 
been so angry. 

Among all the new sensations aroused in the human 
soul by foreign travel, that which he was experiencing 
is perhaps the most acute. It penetrates every fiber, 
mental and physical, dulls the past and — for the 
moment — completely drowns the future. The con- 


8 


AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 


fusion of one’s churned-up thoughts is invariably 
redoubled by the cyclonic appearance of one’s be- 
longings. The larger one’s wardrobe the more 
clothes strew the floor; the larger one’s collection 
of personal luxuries the more of such articles are to 
be seen about upside down and inside out; and the 
more orderly one is in the habit of being the more 
completely disordered one must be under the exist- 
ing circumstances. Dagobert had gone among his 
own on the principle of a dachshund, and his own 
lay witness to the fidelity of the imitation — the bed- 
room and the dressing-room were both piled up with 
raiment and sprinkled with footgear, and in the midst 
of all sat the unhappy young man, gripping his 
clenched fingers behind his head and gnawing first 
one end of his mustache and then the other as he 
tried in vain to think what he could have done with 
the missing bill-book. 

St. Eloi was, of course, far on his way to Herren- 
hausen by this time. But he could not have helped, 
anyhow. Dagobert was glad he was gone and out 
of the way so that he could battle alone with his 
problem. If he had to lose all his financial backing 
at once and so suddenly, he was just as well pleased 
to have a little free time for consideration. Noon 
found St. Eloi at Herrenhausen and Dagobert in 
the midst of the chaos of his wardrobe. Of course, 
it was inevitable that he could not churn them about 
forever and so he finally went over to a big chair and 
sank into it and strove to rally his thoughts — for 
he was young enough to take it all most seriously. 

After the first shock of losing all one’s financial 
assets is over the usual course is to notify the bank 


9 


AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 

of the loss, letters of credit being notably ephemeral 
and forever apt to take wing at unexpected moments. 
The bank duly notified, one has next to cable home 
for money with which to stem poverty’s rising tide. 
Dagobert knew all this and contemplated the humilia- 
tion of the proceeding with extreme bitterness, even 
while he rose from the chair to ring for coffee and 
take another dive among his pockets. He felt as if 
he could not go out and confess himself at once so 
idiotic or so careless. But then he further felt that 
he would have no alternative course. And then he 
grit his teeth and swore madly, “ Never, never, 
never ! 99 

The garfon came in while he was swearing and 
brought the morning paper with the coffee. He sur- 
veyed the room in unconcealed amazement, and asked 
if gracious sir would like the chambermaid at once. 
Gracious sir declined the chambermaid, and so the 
coffee-tray was deposited upon a table and peace 
reigned again. 

Dagobert, left alone, approached the tray, poured 
out a cup of coffee, broke the shell of one egg with 
such vigor that he wished he hadn’t, and then opened 
the paper and looked with disgust upon the news 
of the day as presented in the curly type of Ger- 
man letters. The various comings and goings of 
royalties and the local editorials could not be ex- 
pected to divert a young American whom Fate had 
suddenly cast into the bottommost pit of despair, 
and he turned page after page in vain to see if the 
hyphenated New-York that is au fait in Europe had 
been doing anything while he was asleep that would 
make him forget his personal woes. But alas, all 


10 


AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 


was in vain ; the more he strove to find new interests 
in life the more the gloom of his own situation seemed 
to deepen and the acknowledgment of his loss, which 
would have to be presently cabled to his father, 
loomed ever more distastefully before him. 

Suddenly he put down his coffee-cup and made a 
final dash for his overcoat. He thought that he re- 
membered having thrust the bill-book into his out- 
side overcoat pocket when he made an end of his 
ticket at the station, and of having transferred it 
to its proper place in the inside pocket after his 
arrival at the hotel. But all in vain ! It was not 
there. 

He came back with a heavier frown than ever and 
reopened the paper in a new place. The first thing 
that his eyes fell on was an advertisement written 
in English, set up in Latin type and heavily leaded: 

Wanted Instantly — An original gentleman, 
speaking perfect English. Apply as quickly as pos- 
sible to Mrs. Carpenter, Wienerhof, Hildesheim. 

“ Now what under heaven is ‘ an original gentle- 
man 9 ? ” was Dagobert’s first thought, and the next 
was that the situation offered would just save him 
from all the pressing difficulties of his predicament. 
“ Of course she expects to pay for the desired orig- 
inality,” he reflected gleefully, “ and I’ll apply and 
get paid. I don’t know what she wants, but I’ll bet 
I can do it and then I won’t have to cable for money 
or say a word to a soul about what’s the matter.” 

He re-read the advertisement as he thought these 
thoughts, and his enthusiasm increased momentarily. 


AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 11 

St. Eloi would see how an American shines forth in 
an hour of need, and also incidentally he would have 
some sport. 

“ Mrs. Carpenter’s American, too, of course,” he 
said to himself, for one need travel only a little way 
into the jungle of foreign habits to learn forever 
that the women of those lands never for one second 
dream of departing outside the bounds of conven- 
tionality, or at least, if they do so, they make it an 
invariable rule to accomplish their end unsigned. 

“ 4 An original gentleman ’ ! ” said Dagobert 
again, 44 4 an original gentleman’? What does she 
mean ? What does she want ? What does she expect 
to get? And when she gets it what does she expect 
to do with it or to have it do for her? ” 

Then he entirely forgot the letter of credit and all 
his consequent tribulation for the moment and be- 
came his usual self again. 

44 I might put on a mackintosh over my pajamas, 
shave off half of my mustache, hire a baby-wagon 
and go to Mrs. Carpenter that way,” he declared. 44 1 
wonder if that would strike her as original. Oh, by 
George, what a jolly lark! I believe I’ll — !” And 
with the declaration he rose and went and looked 
out of the window. It was a clear, bright October 
day — a splendid day to go on an adventure of any 
sort. 

Dagobert’s nature was the kind that rebounds eas- 
ily, and he only remembered now that he had thirty or 
forty marks still in his purse and that St. Eloi was 
gone for the day. The double souvenir raised his 
spirits to such an extent that he felt sure that what- 
ever he had lost would surely be found by the cham- 


12 AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 

bermaid, and so he gave up all idea of notifying the 
bank, tore out the advertisement, and proceeded at 
once to terminate his toilet. There was some of it 
done, but considerable left to do, and all the while 
that he was washing and brushing, and booting and 
shirting, and buttoning and studding, and tying and 
scarf -pinning, he was thinking, “ What is 4 an orig- 
inal gentleman ’ ? ” and anticipating eagerly the find- 
ing out. 

When he was finally finished dressing he looked 
through his pockets and found that added to the 
loose change he also had a one hundred-mark note 
left. Twenty-five dollars is a sum whose possibilities 
are larger across the waters than here, and he felt 
quite rich at once. He therefore sallied gaily forth 
in quest of information as to the whereabouts of, 
and means of communication with, Hildesheim, a 
place which dwelt vaguely among his souvenirs as 
cited for something by Baedeker in that part of the 
book that comes just after “ Hotels ” and which a 
man reads when he can’t yawn any more and still 
has two hours to ride before getting there. 

The hotel sportier told him he could go to Hildes- 
heim by train or by tram. That sounded simple. The 
tram sounding simpler, he decided to go that way. 
Dagobert had by this time so far recovered his usual 
superabundant spirits that when he arrived at the 
Theaterplatz just in time to see the Hildesheim tram 
sliding out of sight it did not depress him to learn 
that there would not be another for half an hour. 
He used the half-hour to take a walk around the 
Leine Schloss, and leaned for some time upon the 
balustrade that runs beyond the moat reflecting upon 


13 


AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 

the French standard of honor which had led St. Eloi 
to stand up for Sophia Dorothea. Sophia Dorothea 
— be it said en passant — was the wife of George 
the First of England, the pretty princess of Celle 
who was married at sixteen to that most unpleasant 
of Hanoverian princes. The young American knew 
the story, which, however much one may differ from 
St. Eloi’s moral views, is certainly sad enough to 
command all sympathy. Up in the Alte Schloss, in 
a suite now practically no more, the windows of which 
once gave upon the waters that flowed below Dago- 
bert’s eyes, Sophia Dorothea, crown princess of Han- 
over, lived and loved; and it was in a hall of the 
same wing, still existing, that Konigsmark, leaving 
her on that early morn that ended their night of 
plans for elopement, was set upon and murdered by 
four men, the hirelings of her father-in-law’s mis- 
tress. The story goes that they flung his body into 
a hole and showered quicklime down thick upon it, 
and the next day Sophia Dorothea waited and waited 
for the hour that was to bring her freedom. Toward 
night they barred her doors and sealed her papers, 
and the next day they told her Konigsmark was dead. 
The people of Hanover crowded around the castle 
gates, those very gates that lay to left and right 
of the placid stranger who scorned Illegal love, and 
the emissaries of kings and emperors plied the old 
Elector and his Hanoverian ministers for keys to 
the mysteries within, but no answer was for them. 
In the midst of the troubles and confusion the un- 
happy princess looked her last upon the peaceful 
Leine, and was carried prisoner to Ahlden, where she 
died some thirty years later. When the Schloss was 


14 


AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 


rebuilt during the present century they found Ko- 
nigsmark’s skeleton and signet ring in an oubliette. 
And so ends the reality of that which St. Eloi found 
so natural and which Dagobert so hotly condemned. 

“ She was married,” he thought now, looking down 
into the flowing waters. “ I don’t see how the idea 
ever begins to get into a married woman’s head ! ” 
Then he carried his meditations on a bit further and 
wondered how a decent fellow ever justified himself 
in his own eyes if he became conscious of admiring 
a married woman and didn’t decamp out of the field 
of fight right then and there. 

After awhile he walked around the castle and back 
to the tram waiting-place and found the Hildesheimer- 
Bahn to be there now, waiting, and ready to convey 
him to Hildesheim. He got in and prepared (by 
crossing his legs) for a twenty minutes’ ride. I might 
say piously, “ heaven help him ! ” only heaven never 
helps any one who starts from Hanover to Hildes- 
heim by tram. 

It was a full hour and a half before Dagobert and 
his burning impatience finally arrived at the end of 
that particular line. Our friend lost no time in 
promptly flying out of his cage, and although there 
was another tram which would have gladly borne him 
to his destination either in its first or second-class 
end, he felt that he had had a plenteous sufficiency of 
that form of travel, and so took a cab. On the way 
up he remembered what Baedeker had said about 
Hildesheim and its timber architecture, and looked 
ahead and on either side to the full extent of his 
optical powers. The streets were narrow and 
crooked, and every one was a good study in rapidly 


AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 15 

diminishing perspective. The houses projected with 
each story and the roofs were delightful. Dagobert 
was neither artist nor antiquarian, but he enjoyed 
his ride, and felt that the setting for whatever was 
about to happen would be worthy of it — whatever 
it might turn out to be. 

The cab adapted itself most marvelously to the 
exigencies of the situation, which consisted mainly of 
dachshunds, street-car tracks, babies and unexpected 
corners, all apparently enjoying the right of way 
over vehicles. Dagobert admired the cabman’s good 
temper, until he recollected that he was German. 

Finally they penetrated a peculiarly narrow street 
where nothing could ever by any chance get by any- 
thing if ever they should by ill-luck encounter there; 
and on rounding a curve, came full upon some out- 
work of the Wienerhof itself. 

The Wienerhof is one of Hildesheim’s brightest 
jewels of antiquity. It stands corner-ways on a very 
narrow street, and its windows and door-step en- 
croach yet further upon that same narrowness. It 
has glass panes in plenty in every window and wood 
carving runs over their tops — a wonderful old 
carving which echoes the naive art of the first New 
England Primer. The dear, quaint windows all open 
inward, and those on the first floor are full of long- 
leaved plants and look directly on the cafe — or the 
street ; it all depends on whether you are in the street 
or in the cafe! 

The cab stopped in front of the door and Dago- 
bert got out and paid the driver. Then he went into 
the small, square mediaeval hall, which was dark and 
had coats hanging on a rack, and bags expecting to 


16 


AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 


travel soon piled up by the door; a carved table 
with a carved bench stood in the light, a second in 
the shadow and a third in the dark, and a bell with 
“ Bedienung " over it showed its little white face in 
the midst of some black oak paneling to the left. 

“ I expect to be bedient,” thought Dagobert, and 
rang it at once. 

The kling-klinkle of the bell brought the head 
waiter, or, in German parlance, the Oberkellner , out 
of that one of the Wienerhof chain of restaurants 
which lies first beyond the entrance-hall. The Ober- 
kellner was a large, stout man with the most rosy, 
responsible and joyous of countenances. He looked 
as if he had washed his face in the milk of human 
kindness, and superintended the Wienerhof for the 
pure pleasure of the thing, until a complexion perfect 
in all ways had resulted. When he saw Dagobert 
his smile deepened from that of one who is without 
a wish to that of one who has long had a wish and 
now beholds its longed-for fulfilment. Dagobert, 
standing flooded in the effulgence resultant, inquired 
for Mrs. Carpenter. 

Immediately the Oberkellner' s radiance passed all 
earthly bounds and entered those heavenly realms 
reserved for such as are feed by the generous. He 
smiled upon the stranger with the welcome kept for 
the friends of those same generous individuals, and, 
praying the gracious sir to have the goodness to be 
patient only one or two minutes, went personally to 
inform the gracious lady of his arrival. Dagobert 
tried in vain to divine from bis manner whether he 
himself was the first, last, or only “original gentle- 
man ” who had so far appeared, but before he had 


AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 17 

had leisure to canvass the outside precincts of the 
idea the Oberkellner returned and prayed him forth- 
with to ascend two flights to No. 44. Dagobert 
ascended, and a chambermaid who was wiping the 
wainscoting showed him the door of No. 44. He felt 
an interested excitement as he saw that the door 
was standing wide open, and inferred that the solu- 
tion of the riddle was just beyond, but when he came 
square in front of the door he perceived that the 
room was empty. Mrs. Carpenter had apparently 
retired to some other apartment, but he knew that 
he had been announced, and he knew that she had 
bidden him upstairs, so he went over by the casement 
window and looked out — and waited. 

His view lay up the Wollenweberstrasse — once 
the street of the Wool Weavers’ Guild; or, rather, 
it lay up the extremely narrow entrance that leads 
into the other more pretentious quarter. Dagobert 
found a species of soporific for his uncommonly active 
imaginings in gazing upon the quiet and placid de- 
sertion of so small a way. He could not but — 

“ Oh, I’m so glad you’re a gentleman ! ” exclaimed 
a voice behind him. 

It certainly gave him an awful start, for whatever 
he had been expecting he certainly had not expected 
a voice like that. He could not have catalogued it 
at the minute, but he knew that it was altogether the 
sweetest voice which he had ever heard. The awful 
start occurring simultaneously with that whirl on the 
heel which etiquette prescribes for a gentleman when 
a lady speaks to him from behind his back, it fol- 
lowed that one and one-half seconds after first hear- 
ing her voice Dagobert first saw the face of — of — 


18 AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 

(oh, shades of Konigsmark, St. Eloi and all the rest 
of the list!) — 

“ Mrs. Carpenter? ” he said interrogatively. 

“ Yes,” she answered, holding out her hand. 

So it was so. Of course he had to take her word 
for it or he could never have believed it — for Mrs. 
Carpenter looked to be a girl of eighteen — less 
rather than more. She was a little creature, under 
five feet surely, fairylike in proportions, her hair just 
dark enough and just light enough, her eyes just 
blue enough and just gray enough, her lashes just 
black enough and just long enough, her mouth 
just 

“ Sit straight down,” said Mrs. Carpenter. “We 
haven’t a second to waste.” 

She spoke in the imperative tone of one who is 
thoroughly accustomed to command, and Dagobert 
never dreamed for a second of disobeying her. He 
took a chair and she perched on the sofa in a way 
that made him sure she was sitting on one foot, and 
then she clasped her hands and began to talk. 

“ I’m so glad you’re a gentleman,” she said again. 
“ The first two were couriers and then came a teacher 
from the Berlitz School. I don’t see, I’m sure, what 
they thought I wanted. I said distinctly 6 an original 
gentleman.’ I should think that that was plain 
enough, but no one seemed quite to understand my 
meaning.” 

Dagobert felt that a discreet silence was wisest at 
the minute, and so said nothing. She immediately 
continued : 

“ But I mustn’t take up any time complaining. 
Mr. Carpenter won’t be gone much longer and we 


AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 19 

must have everything arranged before he comes back. 
If he were to come back before it would be all up 
with me, you know.” 

It is needless to deny that this statement startled 
her caller more than a little, although he was so far 
unaware of the damage she had already done him as 
to be mainly perturbed on her account. 

66 Mr. Carpenter is really a very singular man,” 
she went on. 44 If I’d known just how singular he is 
I don’t believe I’d ever have come to Europe with 
him — I don’t, indeed.” She looked very seriously at 
Dagobert as she said that, and the clock seized the 
opportunity to strike three. 

44 Oh, dear,” she exclaimed then, “ I mustn’t take 
up any more time talking that way ; I must tell you 
right off what I need. You are original — aren’t 
you? And you will help me, won’t you? You know 
that’s why I advertised.” She paused and looked 
appealingly at him. 

Dagobert felt himself regretting having left his 
pocket revolver in Hanover, but her appeal made him 
cease to feel and start to answer — only she did not 
give him a chance, after all. 

44 Oh, but you know you will,” she continued at 
once, 44 so there’s no use taking up time talking about 
it. I’ll get right to the main subject. The main 
subject is Mr. Carpenter. It won’t take but twenty- 
four hours and you can have all the money you want 
— we’re ever so rich — only it must be done pleas- 
antly, and to tell you the truth he isn’t always very 
pleasant and he’s never ” 

She stopped short and lifted one finger. 

44 Goodness, there he is now ! ” she cried beneath 
her breath. 


20 


AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 


Before Dagobert had time to think or speak she 
had darted behind him, opened a door, pushed him 
through into the next room, and shut it behind him. 
A man does not have to be very remarkable to have 
known some precedents, printed or practical, of such 
situations, and Dagobert’s bewilderment would have 
turned into the behavior of betrayed and enlightened 
innocence at once had it not been for two circum- 
stances which precluded all action. One was that 
Mrs. Carpenter had not about her one bit of the evil 
mental aroma which marks an adventuress, and the 
other was that the room into which she had so sud- 
denly thrust her caller was already occupied by a 
maid, who was placidly engaged in sitting on the 
bed and mending a lace dress. The maid gave a 
muffled squeal at this sudden invasion of her privacy, 
and before Dagobert had hardly had time to recover 
his equilibrium from the force of Mrs. Carpenter’s 
push, by grabbing the washstand, the door opened 
and Mrs. Carpenter looked in — a bit pale, but smi- 
ling. 

“ It wasn’t he,” she said. u Come back ! ” 

Dagobert returned to the other room. He felt 
completely denuded of personal volition and utterly 
helpless in the hands of Fate. 

“Dear me, but that gave me a fright,” she said, 
as she closed the door of the room where the maid 
was, and returned to her former perch on the sofa. 
“ Why, if that had been Mr. Carpenter and he had 
found you — but we won’t waste time talking about 
it. We mustn’t lose one minute. I must tell you 
what I want and you must think whether you can do 
it — that is always the way people do who advertise 


AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 21 

for help — isn’t it? Never mind answering, because 
it will just take time and we haven’t a second to 
spare. But you see it is this way ; we were in Berlin 
at the Bristol — were you ever there? — such a nice 
hotel, isn’t it? — and baths for nothing. It’s the 
only place in Europe where you can wash for noth- 
ing — that and Hillman’s in Bremen, and the Hotel 
Heck in Gerolstein — only some one told me the other 
day that they charge for baths at Hillman’s now. 
But I must hurry — where was I? Oh, yes, so we 
were in Berlin, and Tiny — that’s my sister — took 
it into her head to get her things in Vienna, and she 
knew Mr. Carpenter wouldn’t like it — he often 
doesn’t like Tiny’s ways anyway, — he 6 ays she isn’t 
a bit like me — and so she went off without saying 
a word to him, and left us all her extra trunks and 
her hat-box of summer hats and the dog and every- 
thing, and when Mr. Carpenter woke up he was really 
vexed indeed; and when he found out about the 
trunks he was angry, and when he found out about 
the dog he was awfully mad, and then Tiny had taken 
Madame with her — because of course she couldn’t 
go alone, and she had taken Nita, too, because she 
can’t do her own hair or hook up her back, and 
Antonio, because he always sees to everything when 
we travel. And that left us in Berlin without Ma- 
dame and me without Nita, and I can’t hook up my 
back any more than Tiny can hers ; and it left us all 
without Antonio, and he’s so useful, and with the 
dog — Mr. Carpenter just despises the dog — and 
he can’t shave himself — Antonio always shaves him, 
and — oh, well, I haven’t time to go into all the de- 
tails but ” 


22 AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 

She paused abruptly, listened with her head on 
one side, and then, before Dagobert had time even 
to gauge what was to come by the light of the past, 
there was a second cry, a second shove, and he found 
himself back with the maid again just as the hall 
door creaked on its hinges. 

This time he felt really out of patience with his 
own folly, for he had to surmise that something very 
out of the way indeed was forming itself about him. 

A man’s voice sounded in the next room. The 
maid, looking somewhat distressed, motioned him to 
sit down. There seemed nothing else to do, so he 
sat down, wondering what would happen to him next. 
The man’s voice continued to rumble indistinctly in 
the next room, and the listener listened acutely and 
wondered if he were really destined ever to see Han- 
over again. And yet there blent with his anxieties 
the oddest possible sentiment of resignation as to 
seeing the thing through. 

Five minutes passed, during which the voices in 
the next room rose and fell and the man’s alternated 
with Mrs. Carpenter’s in what appeared to be, on the 
whole, a reasonably even basis. Then a door closed 
and the next instant that of the bedroom opened, and 
Mrs. Carpenter looked in, smiling. 

“ What a dear, patient fellow you are,” she said 
to Dagobert. “ I’m awfully sorry to treat you this 
way, but you see I’ve been through so much with 
Mr. Carpenter this week that I can’t help being 
wretchedly nervous. Come back now and I won’t 
waste another minute, for there honestly isn’t another 
minute to waste.” 

Dagobert returned to the other room and started 
slightly at its changed appearance. 


AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 23 

“ You see that wasn’t Mr. Carpenter,” said Mrs. 
Carpenter pleasantly ; “ it was the laundryman. I 
had to check the list because Felice can’t speak Ger- 
man. She wouldn’t know what a Leibchen is, and the 
man wouldn’t know what a jupon was, so of course 
I come in for the whole list.” She glanced around 
at the white piles which covered every piece of fur- 
niture in the room and then shrugged her shoulders. 
“ Isn’t our laundry something terrific ? — all in one 
week, too. But a lot of those skirts and things are 
Tiny’s — they aren’t all mine, by any means. Just 
put that pile of blouses on the trunk over there and 
sit down again. I wanted to tell you that it was 
the laundryman, but I thought if I opened the door 
and he saw you he would surely think you looked 
queer, and one doesn’t like to have things look queer, 
you know. And people in Europe are so ready to 
think queer things. Not but what I think an Amer- 
ican laundryman would think you looked funny in 
there with Felice.” 

Dagobert refrained from answering this last ob- 
servation. He felt strongly that his time to talk had 
not yet come. He picked up the blouses and laid 
them on the trunk as commanded, and then he sat 
down again. Mrs. Carpenter did likewise and looked 
at her watch. 

“ Oh, heavens,” she said, “ it’s ’most half-past 
three, and he only drove to the Galgenberg. He’ll 
really be here any minute now. I must hurry. Where 
was I, anyhow? ” 

“ In Berlin,” volunteered Dagobert. 

“Was I? Oh, thank you so much. Well, we 
couldn’t stay in Berlin, of course, because of ever so 


24 AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 

many things, and I couldn’t shop with Tiny in Vienna 
(Tiny and I are twins ; don’t you think Mr. Carpen- 
ter might let us shop together anyhow ? ) I did want 
to go to Paris. Paris is such a good place to shop, 
you know. And I am having a lot — an awful lot — * 
of winter clothes made there ; but do you know, Mr. 
Carpenter was so vexed over Antonio, and he kept 
getting more vexed and then only last Friday he 
suddenly remembered that a steamer sails from Bre- 
men every week, and he had them telegraph and get 
rooms for us on tomorrow’s boat, and he says we 
are to go to Bremen tomorrow morning and sail 
from there tomorrow afternoon! He never told me 
until yesterday on the train when I thought we were 
on the train going straight towards Paris, and you 
cannot imagine how desperate I felt. The more 
I felt the more desperate I felt, and some of our 
trunks went on without us and that made it worse 
yet. I have some skirts without waists and hats that 
don’t match shoes, and the dog has only his little 
black jacket, and all the umbrellas were left in the 
train. How can we get those things home without 
paying duty if we don’t have them with us? And 
then there are my things being made in Paris — I 
declare I was half-mad all last night with thinking 
of it and about one o’clock I couldn’t think of it any 
longer, so I just got up and rang for the waiter and 
I wrote an advertisement and had it — Mercy on 
us ! ” 

An awful rap at the door! 

There was no time to put Dagobert anywhere, for 
the door opened at the same instant. 

It is impossible to detail any of the sensations which 


AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 


25 


took place in the room during the brief space of time 
that it took to open the door ; but when the door was 
opened nothing more formidable appeared than a 
hand, holding out four letters on a plate, this being 
the usual way in which mail is delivered into the rooms 
at the Wienerhof. 

44 Oh, dear” said Mrs. Carpenter, as she went to 
get the letters, 44 I’m afraid he thought something 
queer or he’d have come in all over. But never mind, 
we haven’t time to discuss appearances. Two or three 
more scares can't happen without one’s being Mr. 
Carpenter, and if Mr. Carpenter does come ” 

She went back to the sofa and knotted herself 
thereon again in what Dagobert was fain to con- 
sider as her favorite attitude. 

44 Now we must talk real seriously,” she said, look- 
ing earnestly across at him ; 44 now comes your part. 
I can see you’re a gentleman, and you must have some 
reason for thinking you’re original or you wouldn’t 
have answered the advertisement. So I want you to 
see if you can’t see a way out for me. I simply can't 
go to Bremen to-morrow 1 * — I have got to go to Paris. 
Mr. Carpenter must be kept from sailing from Bre- 
men and you must be the one to keep him. It’s got 
to be you because you are the only gentleman who has 
come — I’ve to trust you are original — I hope you 
are. Do you think you are ? ” 

She paused, and Dagobert had his first real chance 
to speak since he had entered the room. He sat dumb 
in the face of it. He felt thoroughly and completely 
done up. For the nonce he did not know whether he 
was dead or alive — awake or dreaming. 

44 Well,” said Mrs. Carpenter, 44 surely you aren’t 


26 AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 

going back on me? Where did you see the advertise* 
ment, anyhow ? ” 

“ In a Hanover paper,” said Dagobert, dry- 
throatedly. 

44 Well, of course ; I didn’t advertise in any other 
papers; but I mean where were you yourself? ” 

44 In Hanover,” said Dagobert. 

Mrs. Carpenter looked at him quickly and anx- 
iously. 

44 Oh, poor me ! ” she cried. 44 You sound stupid, 
and if you really are stupid, what under the sun am 
I to do?” 

There was a real despair and nerve-thrilling appeal 
in her voice that stung her hearer to the quick. No 
young man who has hitherto considered himself bright 
likes to be suddenly confronted with the accusation of 
stupidity. And Dagobert was also conscious of a 
mad resentment at having this one woman justified 
in calling him stupid. Whatever he might have been 
called by others he would not be called stupid by her. 
Something within him throbbed and pulsed as noth- 
ing had ever throbbed or pulsed before. He felt it, 
prayed that it was the genius of originality, and 
under its impulse sprang to the defense of — Mrs. 
Carpenter. 

44 Don’t worry,” he begged passionately ; 44 leave 
all to me. I’ll help you out or die helping.” 

“How?” she asked. 

44 I’ll see.” 

He hadn’t an idea what he was going to do, but 
he knew that he was going to do something. She 
looked at him and her eyes widened and shone in a 
strangely attractive manner. 


AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 27 

“Oh, I’m so glad,” she exclaimed ; “ I know you 
can help me. But you’ll want money,” she added 
quickly. “ You must be poor or you wouldn’t have 
come, you know.” 

“ That’s true,” said Dagobert, promptly. M I lost 
my letter of credit this morning.” 

“ Oh, never mind making up any story as to why 
you’re poor,” said Mrs. Carpenter easily ; “ we know 
just how it is. Mr. Carpenter lent money to seven 
Americans who had lost their letters of credit just 
in the little while that we were in Berlin — and to 
nineteen who could pay him back the instant they 
reached Paris. Nobody’s ever really poor in Eu- 
rope.” 

“ I hope to heaven I’m not,” Dagobert laughed ; 
“ but I really can’t see where it’s gone, so I’m awfully 
afraid that I am.” 

She looked at him quickly and concernedly. 

“ There, now, I’m afraid I hurt your feelings,” 
she said ; “ but I didn’t mean to. And you mustn’t 
let Mr. Carpenter know you’re without money or he’ll 
take a dislike to you. He lent some money to an 
American with inflammatory rheumatism, in one place 
where we were, and it turned out that the man was 
only intoxicated and they’d taken away his money 
so that he couldn’t buy anything to drink. He had 
delirium tremens just because Mr. Carpenter had 
given him that money, and so now he won’t give even 
a beggar a penny. I want him to think you’re rich ; 
how much would it take to make a man rich for one 
day, do you think ? ” 

“ Nothing,” said Dagobert. “ You can do it on 
credit.” 


28 


AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 


“Nonsense!” said Mrs. Carpenter. “Mr. Car- 
penter isn’t that kind. You can’t do anything with 
him on credit — you must really spend money. I’ll 
give you a thousand marks, shall I? ” 

“ All right,” said Dagobert — who was beginning 
to feel himself more and more enthused with what he 
took to be the spirit of the hour ; “ give me the thou- 
sand marks and I’ll take a room and — ” He hesi- 
tated; he knew there was a phrase which should 
come in here, but it was a moment before he could 
think of it ; then it came to him. “ Leave all to me,” 
he said in a tone the assurance of which astonished 
even himself. 

“ Remember, you have only tonight and tomor- 
row morning,” said Mrs. Carpenter. “ Whatever do 
you suppose you can do? ” 

“ I don’t know,” said Dagobert ; “ I’ll begin by 
consulting the head waiter — they always have 
ideas.” 

“ It’s no use trying to make him ill,” said Mrs. 
Carpenter. “ I could have done that myself, but 
he’ll go even if he’s carried. I thought, too, of lock- 
ing him up in the Andreaskirche — they’re very 
obliging about letting one have the key alone — but 
Mr. Carpenter isn’t the man to stay locked up any- 
where. He’d break a window and get right out.” 

“ They’d arrest him climbing out,” said Dagobert ; 
“ not for climbing out, you know, but for breaking 
the window.” 

“ Oh, no, they wouldn’t,” said Mrs. Carpenter ; 
“ he never gets arrested. He looks as if he was some- 
body incognito, and they don’t dare bother the in- 
cognitos in countries with kings. It’s so different 


AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 


29 


from a republic, where incognitos are only called 
aliases, you know.” 

“ But a restored church window P ” he reminded her. 

“ It wouldn’t make any difference with Mr. Car- 
penter — he just walks across tracks and gets off 
trains anywhere and does what he pleases. He was 
raised so. They spoiled him. You’ll see.” 

Dagobert opened his mouth to reply, but just at 
that instant the door opened and in walked Mr. Car- 
penter ! 


II 

I T was the most natural thing under the sun, con- 
sidering the circumstances, that Dagobert should 
have felt his heart give a sudden leap. 

Even as it leapt its owner rose to face Mr. Car- 
penter. Mr. Carpenter was a large, imposing-looking 
man with pompadour hair, fierce round eyes, the mus- 
tache of a trooper, and the imperial of the third 
Napoleon. He was carefully and correctly attired, 
had a silk hat in his left hand and a heavy, knotted 
walking-stick in his right. There was absolutely 
nothing omitted from his appearance that could have 
further borne out his ideal portrait as sketched 
toward the end of the last chapter. 

Dagobert dared not look at Mrs. Carpenter; he 
felt more inclined to throw himself in front of her. 
He didn’t stop to think why, but if he had he would 
probably have called it chivalry, a name which the 
Middle Ages coined at a time when men on horseback 
were accustomed to find expression for their feelings 
before they had time to get down. They called it 
chivalry, and Dagobert would probably have done 
the same — just at that moment. 

Mr. Carpenter stood looking to left and right with 
a fierce military glance, for an extremely long quar- 
ter of a minute. Dagobert remained erect directly 


AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 31 

opposite him, and Mrs. Carpenter continued sitting 
upon the sofa. She looked more puzzled than fright- 
ened — in fact, she did not appear frightened at all. 
After a little her husband put his hat upon the table 
and announced with equal brevity and emphasis : 

“ I’ve lost the dog ! ” 

His wife clapped her hands. 

“ Oh, goody ! ” she exclaimed. “ How pleased 
Felice will be. Only,” her tone altered sadly, “ what 
a pity that she had just washed him ! She so hates to 
wash him.” Then she looked at Dagobert, and he 
fancied a certain helplessness in her glance, in spite 
of the outward composure. 

He also felt a sort of tightening all through his 
nervous system ; the moment had evidently come to 
introduce him. Of course Mrs. Carpenter knew not 
his name nor one thing about him ; he felt all breath- 
lessness to see how she would extricate them both 
from so dire a mire. 

But she was equal to the hour. 

“ Oh, Mr. Carpenter,” she said in a tone that was 
a triumph of blithesomeness, all things considered, 
“ this is a gentleman whom Tiny begged to call on 
us if he ran across us, Prince — Prince — what did 
you say your name was ? 99 she interrupted, turning 
to Dagobert. “ You know how hard it is to pro- 
nounce Russian.” 

Dagobert’s mentality swung around with a swing 
of which only some other ardent admirer of the 
Japanese can measure the force. A Russian! He! 
Great heavens ! 

Then self-control — he called it that — came to 
his aid, and he bowed a bow that he had learned one 
time in a minuet given for charity, and said: 


32 


AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 


“ Dagobert Henry vich, of New Polsk — at your 
service.” 

He looked at Mrs. Carpenter as he regained an up- 
right position, and divined by the light in her eyes 
that he had done well, but that they were both prob- 
ably in for it now. 

Mr. Carpenter covered the intervening floor space 
in two steps and shook hands warmly with the caller. 

“ My sympathy is with you,” he said ; “ sit down.” 

Dagobert sat down helplessly. Mrs. Carpenter 
remained perched as usual in the corner of the sofa. 
Mr. Carpenter sat down, too. 

“ He saw Tiny in Dresden,” said Mrs. Carpenter, 
evidently feeling that explanations a trois would be 
wisest. “ She was just going down and he was just 
coming through. She sent her love to us all.” 

“I hope she was quite well?” Mr. Carpenter 
asked, with some latent grimness. “ I needn’t inquire 
if she was enjoying herself, I know.” 

“ I had the pleasure of being with her only for 
a very few minutes,” said Dagobert with tremendous 
caution. “ You see, we were both travelers.” 

“ Yes, the most of your class of Russians are travel- 
ing just now, if I understand things rightly,” said 
the husband. “ By the way, though, do you know 
you are the first Russian I ever met that I’ve ever 
really liked the looks of? They’re generally too black 
and curly for me. But you might be an American 
for all your looks say.” 

“ I am often taken for an American,” Dagobert 
confessed ; “ it pleases me very much.” 

“ I should think it would,” said Mr. Carpenter. 
“ If I were Russian I’d be very pleased to be taken 
for anything — even a Chinaman — these days.” 


AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 33 

“ This is no time for me to begin to show spirit,” 
thought Dagobert, and tried to look meek over so 
strong a thrust at the country to which he was sup- 
posed to belong. 

“ I told you I lost the dog, didn’t I? ” Mr. Car- 
penter said, now turning to Mrs. Carpenter. “ I told 
you this noon at dinner that I bet I could do it if 
anyone could, and now I’ve done it.” 

“ How did you do it ? ” she asked with real interest. 

“ Oh, I kept a sharp eye out and took an alley 
home. This is a great place for alleys,” he continued, 
turning to Dagobert ; “ you can find them anywhere, 
and the difference between these and the French ones 
is that in Germany they’re all short cuts, while in 
France they’re all stopped up at the other end.” 

“ I should have thought that the dog could have 
traced you,” Dagobert said. 

“ He wasn’t smart enough,” said Mr. Carpenter. 
“ He’s one of those fool dogs that women exhibit in 
shows and that look like mongrels on the street.” 

“ The prince had only just come in when you did,” 
said Mrs. Carpenter now, “ and I do wish you’d ask 
him if he’s staying here long? ” 

“ No, I’m staying here only a short time,” said 
Dagobert. “ I’m going on tomorrow.” 

“Where?” she asked, and then stared because 
Mr. Carpenter looked so very peculiar. 

“ Don’t I hear the dog? ” he asked. 

Someone rapped, and when they cried “ Herein! ” 
it was the OberJcellner , fairly radiating joy, with the 
dog in his arms. 

“ Oh, dear,” said Mrs. Carpenter distressedly, 
“ you ought to have told him that you didn’t want 
him found.” 


34 


AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 


At that the dog’s owner rose abruptly and quitted 
the room. The instant the door closed Dagobert felt 
himself irresistibly drawn toward Mrs. Carpenter — 
he thought now that it was because he did not wish 
to be overheard, and that was reason enough to sat- 
isfy him for the present. As a matter of fact, the 
effect of having seen her husband was so overpower- 
ing that he was conscious of a strange craving to 
fly out of the window with her forthwith. But he 
only moved his chair a little — a very little — toward 
her sofa. 

“ Why did you make me a Russian prince? ” he 
asked hurriedly and despairingly. “ Of all things on 
the face of the earth! ” 

“ I couldn’t think of anything to say,” she replied 
in a hurry and despair quite equaling his own, “ and 
you see I never hesitate and never stutter, so what 
could I do? I had to say something right off.” 

“ But how can I live up to it ? ” Dagobert felt 
impelled to demand. 

“ If you fail me I’ll never forgive you ! ” she de- 
clared, and her tone thrilled him with a sentiment 
which he now had no doubt was the common manifes- 
tation of strength succoring weakness. 

There was a second’s silence, and a sound to be 
heard in the hall. 

“ As soon as he comes back I’ll get me a room and 
go straight to work,” he said with vigor. 

“ You’ll have to work very hard and very fast,” 
she declared with conviction; then she rose quickly 
and went into the other room, returning almost at 
once with a roll of bills in her hand. 

“ There ! ” she said, “ there’s a thousand marks. 


AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 35 

Spend it royally — but right royally — and — and 
do all you can for me. You will, won’t you? ” 

She gave him her hand, a slim little bit of a white 
one, at the same time that she gave him the money. 

“ I’ll poison him if there’s no other way,” thought 
Dagobert, and sentiments of what he now took to be 
manly heroism surged as the immediate result of her 
finger-tips up through his arm and from thence all 
over him. For one brief second he continued to hold 
her hand, and then he loosed it and felt weak and 
dizzy. 

“ Trust me,” he said rather thickly and indis- 
tinctly, “ and — au revoir.” 

“ Au revoir,” she told him very sweetly ; and then 
he went out and fell over a man who was laying down 
carpet in the hall, because he was for the moment 
completely blinded to all things other than the new 
emotion that had suddenly passed out of any known 
index to the feelings to which he had been hitherto 
wont. He reached the stair in some shape and de- 
scended to the office where reigned a peace sweet, 
complete and entire, and in the office — which was 
synonymous with that same small, square medieval, 
little entrance-hall — he paused to pull himself to- 
gether. 

In the general confusion of all his thoughts, ideals 
and principles, only one fact stood out prominently 
enough to be grasped; that was that if Mrs. Car- 
penter wanted him to do anything he was going to 
do it or die in the attempt. Having laid strong hold 
of that first premise he ventured to lean a little 
further, and the next proposition — i. e., what Mrs. 
Carpenter wanted done, came upon him much as a 


36 AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 

landslide might have come upon John the Baptist. 
In fact, Dagobert felt desperately done up when he 
faced a clock that said four and knew that within 
eighteen hours he must, alone and single-handed 

Just then in walked the head waiter, roseate and 
beaming as usual, and at the sight of his jocund 
countenance our friend immediately recollected how 
he had told Mrs. Carpenter that head waiters always 
could be counted upon in times of stress. He knew 
also that it was true, so he launched himself upon 
the Oberkellner of the Wienerhof at once, beginning 
by asking him if there was a vacant bedroom to be 
had in the house. The Oberkellner walked directly to 
the blackboard, where every one of the guests was 
neatly chalked opposite room numbers, and offered 
him No. 45 — just beside Mrs. Carpenter. Dago^ 
bert shook his head at No. 45, so he next offered him 
No. 46, just opposite Mrs. Carpenter. But Dago- 
bert also shaking his head at No. 46, the Oberlcellner 
told him with a shade of regret veiling his whilom 
sunshine that then he would have to go on the next 
floor or at the other end of the house. 

The regret was so unfeigned that Dagobert would 
certainly have noticed it had he not been so preoc- 
cupied with what he now thought was preoccupation. 
He wondered whether, all things considered, he would 
not be wisest at once to confide fully in the head 
waiter ; so he gave him ten marks and told him that 
although Mr. Carpenter thought that he was a Rus- 
sian prince he really was not one at all. The Ober- 
kellner smiled broadly at this and said he quite under- 
stood. Dagobert thought that of course he didn’t, 
but as a matter of fact he really understood a good 


AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 


37 


deal better than the young man himself. It isn’t 
necessary to give a European head waiter ten marks 
to make him understand situations like the one with 
which we are now dealing. However, Dagobert didn’t 
know enough about the situation himself to be able 
to size it up alone and unaided, so after the ice had 
been properly broken in his estimation he went on a 
little further, told his real name, and then took No. 4 
as an American while he was marked on the black- 
board as plain Dagobert Henryvich ; and it must be 
confessed that it stood out drolly between Herr Won- 
nebald Linieweber, who had No. 8, and Frl. Pinka- 
pank, who had No. 5. 

As soon as that piece of business was concluded 
the time was at hand when real heroism must at last 
come to the fore. 

" I suppose you can do anything if I pay you 
enough? ” the young man said with an earnestness 
which was most flattering. The Oberkellner bowed 
and smiled. Dagobert thereupon took a splendid 
cigar out of his pocket, presented it in due form, and 
then made a clean breast of the whole difficulty. 

“ It will be worth a thousand marks to you if 
Madame does not have to sail from Bremen tomor- 
row,” he said by way of conclusion. The OberJcellner 
looked fairly startled at the size of the bribe, and then 
his usual smile returned and slowly overspread his 
face. 

“ Gracious sir, I must ask a little time to con- 
sider,” he said, almost in a tone of awe. The awe 
mixed oddly with the smile, and Dagobert wondered 
if the mixture was auspicious. 

“ Do you think that you can manage it?” he 
asked. 


38 AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 

“ Gracious sir, I must think, but I will say that 
I believe all things possible.” 

Dagobert looked at him squarely and liked his 
face ; there was no one else to turn to or trust in, 
anyhow. 

u Oh, by the way,” he said then, “ I suppose there 
is a private dining-room here? ” 

“ Yes, certainly.” 

It occurred to the young man that it would be most 
delightful — and courteous — to give a little supper 
to his new friends that very night, so he placed that 
commission also with the useful OberhelVner , des- 
patched a note above with the invitation, and then, 
remembering that he had come from Hanover with 
no more than the clothes upon him, felt it necessary 
to go out and do a little shopping without delay. 

The Oberkellner's plan seemed to be assuming 
fairly favorable shape, judging from the fervor with 
which he urged a walk upon the guest. Dagobert 
secured some explicit directions as to where to go 
and set out at once, confident in his ability not only 
to get to the shops desired but also to return to the 
hotel in due time. But streets and turns in Hilde- 
sheim are more than a little confusing, and by the 
time that he had visited the third place he was so 
completely puzzled that he had to confess himself 
quite astray, and one or two more unexpected twists 
in a street which was uniform in nothing but its 
name brought him up standing in what was evidently 
some other division of the city. 

He was in a great irregular oval of overhanging 
houses, and looked up at the tremendous Gothic 
church that filled the middle of the space. It struck 


AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 39 

him as quite the most imposing sight that he had 
ever seen, partly because its side walls presented such 
huge spreads of unrelieved stone work, and partly 
because it so completely dwarfed the seven and 
eight-story steep-pitched roofs of the sixteenth-cen- 
tury structures surrounding it. 

As he stood beside it an organ burst out, and 
the solemn melody flooded the old square with a sort 
of soul-sunshine. It was wonderful — it was sublime. 
It fitted oddly in with some new birth that seemed to 
have taken place for him that day. He did not just 
know what or where or how or why, but the music 
seemed to know and seemed to be bearing the whole 
burden of a mighty secret in the conscious strength 
of its diapason. He bowed his head as if he were 
within the church — a worshipper before its shrine, 
and he felt his whole being flooded with a new resolve, 
a new desire. After a little the music ceased and then 
he slowly lifted his head and there, right before him, 
appearing also much affected by the solemnity of 
the music, was Mrs. Carpenter. 

She had on a gray-blue walking-suit the color of 
her eyes, and a hat with a bluebird standing on his 
head just over her left ear, also a white boa and a 
white muff that ended in foxes’ heads and tails artis- 
tically combined. She looked most charming, and 
she also looked straight up at him. 

66 1 saw you coming in here,” she said pleasantly, 
“ and so I followed. I thought that maybe you were 
thinking of the Andreaskirche. That’s it, you know, 
and the museum is in the front half ; but oh, dear, 
it never will do to try and lock him up in there. You 
see there isn’t time for one thing. It really isn’t 
practical — take my word for it.” 


40 


AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 


Dagobert thought that even in the face of her 
informality it would be more the proper thing to 
take off his hat and shake hands, so he did. She had 
on a little glove of thinnest kid, and her hand was as 
soft and warm as a baby squirrel. He felt the organ 
— although it had ceased playing — thrill him all 
over again as he held her fingers and mighty long- 
ings to — to do anything for her went through him. 

“ Is this the Andreaskirche ? ” he asked, aston- 
ished at how sensible his voice sounded; and then, 
“ Why, do you know I was lost — I didn’t know what 
church it was, or where I was — I didn’t really.” 

“ Didn’t you ? ” she asked, surprised. “ I thought 
you came here on purpose to consider its feasibility. 
But it really isn’t feasible. He must be kept in some 
way that doesn’t look on purpose. If you arrange 
a way that looks on purpose he will never forgive 
me, and that wouldn’t do, you know.” 

Something in her phrasing sent a dart of misery 
through Dagobert, who — not knowing what ailed 
him — thought that it was the frosty stones of the 
Andreasplatz, and suggested walking on. 

“ Let us talk about something else,” he said. 
“ You are to dine with me tonight — did you know 
that? ” 

“ Oh, yes,” she ^aid; “ the note came just as I 
was leaving. It will be awfully jolly — but awfully 
jolly.” 

“ I most sincerely hope so,” said he heartily ; “ but 
don’t you think that it would be wise to seize this 
opportunity to post me up a bit? Couldn’t we take 
a little walk together and — and talk, you know ? ” 

She seemed ready to meet his proposal half-way, 


AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 41 

and they turned and walked out of the square into 
a street which would have seemed narrow only that 
it kept on growing more so. 

“ Have you been over long ? ” he asked presently, 
falling back on the tamest thing that one can say in 
Europe, just because his tongue felt itself so beset 
with a crush of questions. 

“ A year. You see, we’ve had such a dreadful time 
with Tiny — Tiny’s my sister. We didn’t mean to 
stay so long, but Tiny never seems ready to go home. 
But now Mr. Carpenter has gotten tired of waiting, 
and he says Tiny must be in Bremen tomorrow or 
come alone. He’s awfully good about Tiny — al- 
ways lets her do just what she pleases — but just 
what she pleases. I must say that for him — he’s 
awfully good, as a general rule. But, of course, Tiny 
can’t sail from Bremen tomorrow when she’s in Vi- 
enna and thinks we’re on our way to Paris. She has 
Madame and Nita and Antonio with her, and she 
knows she’s all safe and she doesn’t mean to hurry. 
Of course we all know her ways, but that’s why I 
want to keep him in some pleasant way that looks 
like an accident, if I possibly can, instead of vexing 
him. You see, he might be really very, very cross 
with me otherwise. Of course he hasn’t the call to 
keep me good-tempered that he has Tiny — I’ve got 
to be good-tempered.” 

Dagobert felt the same sharp dart of misery again. 

“ What is that? ” he asked, looking up at a quaint, 
old building because he felt that looking down would 
make him feel worse somehow. 

“ It’s the Rolandstift — it’s Plate B-2.” 

“ Plate B-2!” 


42 


AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 


<£ Yes, in the Baedeker. You see, since Tiny took 
Antonio I have to look them all out in the Baedeker 
for Mr. Carpenter, and so I learn them all by heart 
— but by heart.” She nodded her head, laughing, 
and he found her quaint little “ but ” and the em- 
phasis that followed it the prettiest trick of speech 
that he had ever heard. 

“ What does ‘ stift 9 mean ? ” he asked, pausing on 
the narrow stone sidewalk and continuing to stare up 
at the queer structure opposite. He thought that 
he wanted to study the wood carvings in the oblong 
spaces over doors and windows, but perhaps the fact 
that he had stopped his companion by catching hold 
of her arm had something to do with his interest. 

“ I don’t know,” said Mrs. Carpenter, looking up- 
ward, too ; 66 ever so many things are * stifts 9 over 
here — but just ever so many. Rich men did it all 
the time. I like the carvings, don’t you? I like that 
nice little one of Delilah and Samson in the corner — 
the way he lays smash up against her knee while she 
takes his hair off in square blocks.” 

“ The next one is nice, too,,” said Dagobert. He 
still had hold of her arm and was astonished to feel 
a real understanding of the art of the Middle Ages 
enveloping him more and more. 

“ That’s Samson and the gates of — but of 
what ? ” asked Mrs. Carpenter. 

“ Of Sodom and Gomorrah, of course,” said Dago- 
bert promptly. “ Don’t you remember, first he went 
out in the desert and rent them apart and then he 
carried them off? ” 

“ Oh, yes,” said Mrs. Carpenter pleasantly, “ of 
course. And there he goes with one under each arm 


AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 43 

straight up the hill. And that next one,” she contin- 
ued ; “ that must be that man that the gourd grew 
— it was a gourd, wasn’t it?” She hesitated and 
looked at Dagobert, who felt all his Bible history leap 
to her help. 

“ It didn’t grow — it withered,” he said. “ It’s 
withering there ; see the flowers hanging down.” 

“ Is a gourd a flower?” asked Mrs. Carpenter. 
" I thought you could fill them with water.” 

Dagobert pressed her arm a little to set her walk- 
ing again ; he felt that he was come to the end of his 
scriptural rope. 

“ Let’s see the other side ! ” he suggested sweetly. 

They walked around the comer. 

“We really ought to be discussing Mr. Carpen- 
ter,” said Mrs. Carpenter; “we really ought, you 
know.” 

“ I am thinking of him all the time,” said Dago^ 
bert. “I shall manage, don’t fear; it’s all planned 
already.” 

“Not really?” cried his companion, pausing 
short. 

“ Yes, really. Won’t you believe me? Don’t you 
feel that you can trust me? ” 

“ I want to trust you,” said she, looking up at 
him in a way that flooded him with want and trust, 
“ but I’m afraid that, being only a man, you don’t 
appreciate how tremendously important it is that I 
get to Paris. Do you mean to say that you really 
and truly have got it all arranged already — but 
already? ” 

Dagobert felt the need of a little evasion. 

“ I know what Paris means to women,” he said. 
“ I’ve been to Paris myself.” 


44 AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 

“ For clothes ? ” Her tone was indescribable. 

“ No, but with women who wanted clothes.” 

She drew a quick, sharp breath. 

“ Are you married? 99 she cried, in a frightened 
tone. 

Dagobert felt absolutely permeated with joy at 
the fright in her tone. 

“ No, no,” he hastened to assure her, “ no, indeed . 
I was in Paris with my mother and sisters.” 

“ Oh ! ” said Mrs. Carpenter. She went on then 
slowly. “ That’s the Kaiserhaus,” she said in a per- 
functory tone presently ; “ it’s Plate B-2.” Then 
she added, “ I’m so glad.” 

“ But why ? ” asked Dagobert, “ why are you glad 
that I am not married? ” 

She glanced at him briefly. 

“ I don’t like married men,” she said ; “ they never 
are nice. Look at Mr. Carpenter! And unmarried 
men ” — she hugged her muff abruptly to her bosom, 
“ oh, they are so nice ! ” she looked up at him out 
of the corners of her changeable blue eyes ; “ but 
unmarried men are so nice,” she added. “ Why, you 
should have seen Mr. Carpenter before he was mar- 
ried. He was that good to Tiny and me — but that 
good!” 

Dagobert was silently conscious of a crushing sen- 
sation within him. They were coming out on a boule- 
vard that stretched invitingly away. 

“ He’s very good to Tiny yet,” Mrs. Carpenter 
continued ; “ of course that goes without saying. 
But he’s that strict with me — but that strict ! ” 

Dagobert looked at the inviting boulevard and 
then his conscience rose up with overpowering force 
and made him take out his watch. 


45 


AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 

" What time is it ? ” his companion asked. 

“ Ten minutes past five.” 

“ Oh,” her tone was deliciously sad and regretful, 
“ then we must go back — mustn’t we? ” 

“ I am afraid so.” 

“ If Mr. Carpenter were only German ! ” she 
sighed. 

M How would that help ? ” he asked. 

“ Why, he’d be taking his coffee in some cafe now 
and we could stay out and walk along this lovely 
boulevard.” 

Dagobert felt his senses swimming upward in a 
liquid sea of joy. She was so entrancingly, surpass- 
ingly delightful — and she wanted to stay with him ! 
— oh, the lovely, fascinating, adorable — he sighed 
for more adjectives to conquer. 

“ Can’t we walk a little further, anyway? ” he sug- 
gested. 

But she shook her head. 

“ I’m afraid not,” she said. “ You see, he doesn’t 
take a nap before supper, but ” 

“ But ?” 

“ But that is only half the difficulty. He doesn’t 
sleep, but ” 

“ But ? ” 

“ I do.” 

She laughed outright then — and hugged her 
muff up to her bosom and laughed again. 

“ And what will Dagobert Henryvich do when you 
desert him? ” asked the young man. 

“ Oh, you must entertain Mr. Carpenter — you 
can go out and walk with him next. And remember, 
whatever you do, don’t make him mad. Let him have 


46 


AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 


his way in little things like the Baltic Fleet and the 
Democratic party — Tiny and I always do — but 
always.” 

“ Oh, I can do that easily enough,” said Dagobert ; 
“ I’ve knocked about so much that I’m thoroughly 
cosmopolitan — have neither patriotism, principles 
nor morals left.” 

“ But you have feelings about the New York Cus- 
tom House left — haven’t you?” Mrs. Carpenter 
said earnestly. “ You surely haven’t outlived those 

— have you ? ” 

“ No,” said Dagobert with emphasis, “ I wouldn’t 
be human if I ever got where I liked being welcomed 
home by the treatment accorded us there.” 

“ Poor Tiny had four lovely dresses spoiled,” said 
Mrs. Carpenter sadly. “ They spread them out on 
the dock, and it was so wet. Tiny cried.” 

“Let’s change the subject!” said Dagobert 
grimly. 

Mrs. Carpenter sighed sadly. “ Yes, let’s,” she 
said mournfully. 

They walked along, sometimes in the street and 
sometimes on the sidewalk, according to which had 
the most room to walk on. 

“ I suppose I shall have a hard time being a Rus- 
sian just at present,” said Dagobert. “ Lucky my 
overcoat is hall-marked Paris.” 

“ You can say you were educated in France,” said 
Mrs. Carpenter. “ You can say anything you please 

— nobody is very clear about Russian facts, you 
know.” 

“ I’ll fall back heavy on my relatives,” said Dago- 
bert. “ Russians always have tons of relatives. I’ll 
lug mine in by the ears or any old way.” 


AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 


47 


“ Yes, do,” said Mrs. Carpenter simply. 

“ And you will trust me, won’t you? ” said Dago- 
bert. “ I promise you, you shall not go from Bremen 
tomorrow — I promise,” he added, with great fer- 
vency. 

“ I believe you,” she replied earnestly ; then she 
laughed. “ It’s so jolly meeting you,” she said. 
“ When I advertised I really thought I wanted some- 
one for Mr. Carpenter. But it seems as if I’m taking 
you all to myself.” 

Dagobert felt a sharp thrust which was so sharp 
that whether it was pain or joy he could not tell. 

They went quickly along the Hoherweg past 
Loser’s, and Hartwig’s, and Hornthal’s, and all the 
other curious names, and he had so much ado to fol- 
low the ins and outs of his companion’s footsteps that 
they said not a word until, turning to him at the 
Platz, she remarked, “ After supper what shall you 
and Mr. Carpenter do ? ” 

“ Oh, dear,” said Dagobert, stepping over a dog 
and out for a woman, “ must it be Mr. Carpenter, 
too, after supper ? ” 

“ You can interest him, I know,” she said, smiling 
gaily. “ He isn’t a bit the usual American — he’s 
deeply interested in Europe and he’ll like to hear your 
side of the war. He didn’t approve of the peace at 
all — he says war is one of Nature’s principles.” 

“ I suppose there wouldn’t be standing room on 
the globe if Mr. Roosevelt had his own way all 
around,” said Dagobert, laughing. 

Mrs. Carpenter laughed, too. 

“ I read an article once on how if David hadn’t 
killed Goliath, but had let him settle down to domestic 


48 AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 

life, we’d have two billion living giants among us 
today,” she said. 

“ I’m glad he killed him,” said Dagobert decidedly. 

“ Why?” 

“ Because I like to look big myself.” 

They turned in the door of the Wienerhof and saw 
the head waiter standing smiling under the clock. 

The clock said twenty-five minutes past five. 

“ I must run,” exclaimed Mrs. Carpenter — and 
ran at once. 

Dagobert paused behind. 

“ Well, have you thought it all out? ” he asked the 
head waiter. 

“ Yes, gracious sir, I have thought — I am still 
thinking. You may rely upon all being done as you 
wish.” 

“ How will you manage ? ” 

The beneficence of the head waiter’s smile became 
enigmatic. 

“ The details must be arranged later,” he said. 
“ I only ask the gracious sir to trust implicitly.” 

“ Makes me think of 4 pig won’t get over the 
stile,’ ” thought Dagobert. “ I beg her to trust me, 
the head waiter begs me to trust him — I wonder 
who in thunder he’s turning the job over to.” 

Then he looked at the man again and was ashamed 
of himself for conceiving any sentiment other than 
utter confidence when the beams of that smile were 
enveloping him in their hope-giving radiance. 

“ Do your best,” he said. “ I’ll be most substan- 
tially grateful, I swear.” Then he hurried to his 
room. 

The purchases which he had made and ordered 


AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 


49 


sent home, were already arrived and lying on the 
table. But he paid no attention to them; he had a 
good hour and a half, and he threw himself forthwith 
into a chair and plunged into a bottomless pit of 
reverie. 

Well, here was an adventure — were they blue or 
gray? Blue? — no, gray. How little idea one ever 
has what a day may bring forth! . . . Stupid, not 
to have bought a toilet-bag . . . such long eye- 
lashes, too! . . . How old was she, anyhow? Nine- 
teen — not more. . . . How long could she have 
been married? A year? not more. . . . Curious; 
was it for money? . . . Quaint town, Hildesheim! 
Delightful place to stroll about — she walked so well, 
too. Odd, how short that hour had been! Getting 
late, now, though. What under the sun could “ stift ” 
mean ? “ Rolandstift ! ” Droll picture of Samson 

and Delilah. . . . What a dear little laugh she had ! 
What fun it would be to do the whole town together 
— she and he ! Good idea to go out later that 
evening. Europe always looked so well by electric 
light. Why didn’t Mr. Carpenter go to sleep after 
supper? Very good habit for elderly gentlemen. 
Very . . . 

He was interrupted by a tap at the door. 

“ Herein ! ” he cried. 

It was the Oberkellner. 

“ Gracious sir,” he said — and the breadth of the 
beam passed all belief — “I have found a plan and 
it will succeed. Give assent to everything, assist the 
departure in all ways. But rest assured that the 
most gracious lady will never sail to-morrow.” 


Ill 


T HE Oberkellner's assurance raised Dagobert to 
the highest pitch of happiness to which he had 
ever hitherto attained. He didn’t care to know any 
of the particulars, he was only too willing to act the 
part of innocence aiding to speed the parting guest ; 
but wasn't it glorious that she wasn’t going to have 
to go since she hadn’t wanted to go ? And wasn’t 
it more than glorious that he had been the means 
through which she had attained to that desired end ? 

He went whistling about his room as he dressed, 
quite filled with the joyous insouciance of a boy of 
twelve, and it was only after he had come to the end 
of the third complete tune that he began to be aware 
of a shadow lurking behind his happy carelessness. 
He had been conscious of the same shadow earlier in 
the day, but the Oberkellner's news had overlaid it 
to the point of forgetfulness for the last brief period. 
What under the sun was the sense of his feeling any 
blight upon his good spirits now, anyhow? The let- 
ter of credit was sure to be found, and in any case its 
loss had been a blessing in disguise, since it had led 
to his knowing Mrs. Carpenter. Supposing that he 
had never lost the letter of credit, or read the morn- 
ing paper, or known Mrs. Carpenter! Good gra- 
cious, it was all too awful to contemplate ! 


AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 51 

The shadow on his spirits was undoubtedly the 
close chance which he had run of never knowing Mrs. 
Carpenter. But he knew her now and he was always 
going to know her from now on. St. Eloi could fool 
around Germany as long as the general fooled around 
France, if he so chose, but Dagobert was going 
straight back to Paris when the Carpenters went 
there, and he was going to go straight back to Amer- 
ica when they went there, too. The idea of crossing 
the ocean on their steamer appealed to him mightily. 
The steamer rolls and people cling to you, you know, 
and you hold them up, you know, and then sometimes 
the moon shines and then again it doesn’t shine. . . . 

Dagobert was adjusting his scarf-pin and thinking 
buoyantly of all sorts of future joys even while he 
wondered that the insistent shadow never ceased to 
dog the heels of his dancing hopes. He tried to drive 
it from him by keeping his thoughts fixed on the pos- 
sibilities of nights when the moon did not shine, but 
it was cruelly persistent in its clinging. 

Then he went to the window and looked out on 
the street all crowded with the tide flowing home- 
ward. He felt very strangely — as if there was a 
lesson in the shadow — a lesson waiting for him to 
learn. He leaned in the window and was conscious 
of a certain resolute tightening of all his muscles. 
For a little he waited tense and rigid; and then he 
turned from the window and walked up and down 
the room, his brows drawn together and his arms 
tightly folded across his bosom. He was fighting 
hard and he knew that he was fighting hard. All 
sorts of words and thoughts and speeches tossed up 
on the foam of his battling. It was inevitable that 


52 AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 

the truth should finally come out uppermost. He 
put it from him, remembering his indignation with 
St. Eloi — his condemnation of the poor little prin- 
cess of Hanover; he had been well- raised even if his 
education had been daringly liberal, and he would 
not admit even to himself that 

Oh, no, no, no! 

The shadow was close beside him, pressing against 
his forehead, compressing his heart. My God, it 
wasn’t six hours yet! It couldn’t be true! He was 
conjuring up a spirit to vex himself. . . . 

And then he went by the wall, rested his hand 
against it, clenched his other hand hard, and without 
knowing what he was saying or doing repeated three 
times aloud: 

“ She is a married woman ! ” 

After that he was quiet as if the admission had 
freed him of a burden, and then he turned about, 
feeling ages older and wiser, and said: 

“ I must be a good friend to her, but I must not 
go to Paris with them. It wouldn’t be white. She’s 
too sweet.” He paused a little after that and then 
he added, “ And I care too much for her.” 

The wonder of it all was so mighty that he very 
nearly forgot his supper-party in thinking of it, and 
then when he remembered he pulled himself together 
quickly and put into his new resolves all the fine 
clean strength that had carried him so often to vic- 
tory upon the track. The day he was living was for- 
ever a marked day in his life, but the marked hour of 
the day was beyond all question the hour that he 
spent alone by himself in his own room, thinking. 

He went down to the private dining-room a little 


AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 53 

before seven and found the table laid for three and 
a bouquet of violets at Mrs. Carpenter’s place, just 
as he had ordered. 

His guests arrived five minutes after the hour and 
he felt to the full effect all that had taken place in 
his room when he saw the sweet, girlish face again 
and looked into those deep blue-gray eyes. 

“ Sorry to be late, prince,” said her husband eas- 
ily, “ but I fell asleep over the state of affairs in your 
country. When you don’t blow up some magnate 
it makes the daily news seem so awfully tame, don’t 
you know? ” 

Dagobert gladly seized this clue out of the some- 
what labyrinthian situation ; there is nothing so 
amusing as lying your way out of difficulties when 
you know yourself to be in other and deeper diffi- 
culties out of which there seems to lie no way. 

“ They blew up two of my cousins last week,” he 
said, “ and shot one, and drowned four,” he added, 
pulling out Mrs. Carpenter’s chair as he spoke. 

“ Oh, I say ! ” said Mr. Carpenter, sticking his 
glass in his eye, “ you aren’t serious? ” 

“ Oh, but I am — but what does it matter ? Sub- 
tract seven princes of New Polsk and it leaves thirty- 
nine alive. That’s a principle of our race which the 
outside world doesn’t seem able to grasp with the 
right hand.” 

“ No,” said Mr. Carpenter a little blankly, “ I’m 
sure it never struck me so before.” 

Mrs. Carpenter sat down in her chair and Dago- 
bert slid her into place. Mr. Carpenter sat down. 
Dagobert sat down. The waiter began to serve them 
and everything was hot and well-cooked. For was it 
not the Wienerhof ? 


54 


AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 


“ Now this is really great,” said Mr. Carpenter 
heartily. “ So nice to meet someone speaking Eng- 
lish, you know. And you do really speak it uncom- 
monly well, you know,” he added ; “ your English 
master must have caught you young.” 

“ He did,” said Dagobert, “ very young ; fact is, 
I was born in England. My father was minister- 
extraordinary there, fixing up the affairs of the 
Crimea.” 

“ Surely not of the Crimea ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Car- 
penter. 

“ Oh, well, of the Charge of Balaklava then,” said 
Dagobert readily, “ or maybe it was the Indian Mu- 
tiny. Anyway, he was there, so I came there first.” 

Mr. Carpenter put his glass in his eye, but, the 
waiter bringing the soup just then, let his glass fall 
and picked up his soup-spoon instead. 

“Isn’t it good?” said Mrs. Carpenter. “I’m so 
hungry. I love to be hungry and then eat.” 

“ That’s a glad hearing for your host,” said the 
young man ; “ it’s always nice to dine with people 
who are hungry.” He smiled straight at her as he 
spoke. He meant to be brave and he was being brave 

— but it was hard. She returned the smile in full 

— oh, that made it so much harder ! 

“ And that dear little waiter,” she said ; “ isn’t 
he cunning? He brought up my breakfast this morn- 
ing and I thought he was part of a dream.” 

“ I didn’t,” said Mr. Carpenter ; “ waiters and 
dreams never blend with me. But when are you go- 
ing back to Russia? ” he asked Dagobert. “ I should 
think your unhappy land needed all its able-bodied 
men these days.” 


AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 55 

“ Oh, dear, no,” said Dagobert ; 44 the more sense 
a Russian has the further he goes just now. You 
ought to see that it’s the only sensible course to pur- 
sue in the circumstances. The more a man wants to 
help, the further away he must get before begin- 
ning.” 

44 1 suppose that’s really a fact,” said Mr. Carpen- 
ter, 44 but — patriotism, don’t you know, and all 
that? ” 

44 Oh, patriotism doesn’t go down with me even a 
little bit,” said Dagobert. 44 When my countrymen 
dynamited my grandfather I ceased to feel patri- 
otic.” 

44 Dynamited your grandfather ! ” cried Mr. Car- 
penter. 

44 He was killed with the martyr-emperor,” said 
Dagobert calmly. He helped himself to pepper as 
he spoke. 

44 1 thought only the coachman was killed ! ” 

44 He was the coachman.” 

44 The coachman ! ” 

44 It’s a hereditary dignity in our family ; when the 
Czar feels uneasy he always calls on a prince of New 
Polsk to drive him.” 

44 Great heavens ! ” said Mr. Carpenter. 

44 That’s the only thing that will ever take me back 
to Russia,” said Dagobert. 44 If I’m called on to 
drive my Czar out, I must and shall obey. But why 
don’t we get something else to eat ? ” he said. 44 Soup 
is always regarded as a starter only.” 

Just then the waiter came in with a dish called on 
the menu the German equivalent of 44 fricasseed calf.” 
It was developed under the form of stewed veal. It 


56 


AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 


wasn’t what had been ordered, but it proved to be a 
sort of extra entree served in addition to the selected 
menu. 

“ I like these German dishes,” said Mr. Carpenter, 
plunging into it at once. 44 I detest veal in America.” 

44 All men do,” said Mrs. Carpenter, 44 but I wish 
I had some chow-chow to eat with this.” 

44 There,” said Mr. Carpenter, laying down knife 
and fork and staring abruptly around, 44 there — 
that’s the thorough-paced American spirit for you. 
Wants steam heat in the fjords of Norway, ice-water 
in Gerolstein and chow-chow here. I tell you, the 
moderns who deserve halos are Cook & Sons, who tour 
shoals of the discontented about year after year.” 

44 I don’t often want things,” protested Mrs. Car- 
penter ; 44 just compare me with Tiny ! ” 

44 Tiny and you are two different propositions,” 
said Mr. Carpenter. 44 1 am obliged to humor Tiny.” 

Mrs. Carpenter opened her mouth a bit and then 
shut it ; Dagobert felt such a sympathy for the open- 
ing and such an admiration for the shutting that he 
wanted to grab a sword, fly anywhere, and fight any- 
one for — chow-chow. 

44 But really — ” he commenced. 

44 Prince,” said Mr. Carpenter, beginning to eat 
again, 44 excuse my showing feeling, but I came over 
a year ago with one lady, a maid, six trunks and 
seven small pieces of luggage. Since then I have 
accumulated a companion, a sister-in-law, a courier, 
a second maid, that dog I lost today, eleven more 
trunks, fifteen more pieces of small luggage, a phy- 
sician, a trained nurse, a nurse and a baby — do you 
wonder I take fire at allusions to chow-chow ? ” 


AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 


57 


Dagobert’s fork went down on the floor. 

“ And a baby ! ” he cried blankly. 

“ And a baby,” said Mr. Carpenter firmly. 

Dagobert looked helplessly at Mrs. Carpenter. 

“ Such a little dear ! ” she said sweetly. 

Poor Dagobert! He had braced himself to bear 
much, but he certainly had never suspected a baby. 

The waiter came in just then, carried off the re- 
mains of the fricasseed calf, and consulted as to fish. 

“ There is a fish,” said Mr. Carpenter, addressing 
him in distinctly English German, “ that has unex- 
pected bones running all along its lower edge.” 

4< You don’t want that kind,” said Mrs. Carpenter. 

“ Yes, I do,” said Mr. Carpenter ; “ it’s my fa- 
vorite fish.” 

Dagobert felt that in his position as host he had 
no choice but to forthwith recover from the sudden- 
ness of the baby. 

“ Bring all the kinds of fish you have,” he said to 
the waiter. 

“ Don’t be reckless,” said Mrs. Carpenter. “ Your 
country isn’t going to pay dividends for a long while, 
you know.” 

“ I know,” said Dagobert, “ but my father is the 
head of the tax-collecting department for Red Rus- 
sia.” 

“ For Red Russia ? ” 

“ Yes ; don’t you know that Russia is divided by 
colors? There’s Blue Russia, Pink Russia, Lemon 
Russia, Crushed Strawberry Russia — of course I 
am translating.” 

“ What a primitive plan ! ” said Mr. Carpenter. 

tC We’re very primitive,” said Dagobert. “ Stand- 


58 AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 

in g where we do on the map we only have our choice 
of being primitive — or Chinese.” 

“ I expect that’s true,” said Mr. Carpenter. 
“ You seem to take a very broad standpoint in re- 
gard to your country, prince.” 

“ Oh, as to that we all prefer abroad just now,” 
said Dagobert, and then felt ashamed of himself and 
begged Mrs. Carpenter’s pardon. However, Mrs. 
Carpenter only laughed and Mr. Carpenter compli- 
mented the young man again on his ready use of 
English and then took the compliment back, saying 
that he had forgotten where he was born for the 
moment. 

The supper wound its happy course along through 
Gansebraten with three kinds of plums and other odd 
coincidences until they came at last to “ wind-bot- 
tles ” — called in English “ cream-puffs ” — and 
coffee. Mr. Carpenter fidgeted over his coffee and 
asked Mrs. Carpenter if she fully realized that that 
time tomorrow they would be far out to sea, at which 
Mrs. Carpenter’s face fell so suddenly that she nearly 
caused Dagobert’s coffee-cup to follow suit, he hav- 
ing for the nonce utterly forgotten the seriousness 
of the situation. Then he found her looking at him 
and the appeal in her eyes recalled to him the assur- 
ance of the head waiter and he smiled reassuringly 
in his turn. 

“ What train do you take in the morning ? ” he 
asked of Mr. Carpenter. 

“ The caravan will move at eight o’clock,” re- 
plied its head. “ I suppose,” he added to Mrs. Car. 
penter, “ that we can all get off then.” 

“ I don’t know,” she said very dubiously. 


AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 59 

“ Well, we must, anyhow,” said her better half, 
putting his glass to his eye and surveying her as if 
to size up her moving capabilities. “ We have to 
get to Bremen and from there to Bremerhafen, you 
know, and the steamer sails at either two or five — 
I’ve forgotten which it is on that line.” 

“ Don’t you think,” said Mrs. Carpenter to Dago- 
bert, 44 that it’s very unfair to call it a line from 
New York to Bremen, when it really runs between 
Hoboken and Bremerhafen — two such unattractive 
places ? ” 

44 I do indeed,” said Dagobert heartily. 

46 Well,” said Mr. Carpenter, 44 wherever the line 
runs to or from, it runs, and we are going on it to- 
morrow.” 

44 What time does the train leave Hanover ? ” 
Dagobert asked. 

44 1 don’t know,” Mr. Carpenter said. 44 I’m go- 
ing to take a cab and go to the station after supper 
and find out about everything. I always have the 
courier do it the last thing the night before leaving, 
and as he isn’t along to do it tonight I shall do it 
myself ; I don’t allow any changes in time-tables 
ever to be sprung on me.” 

44 Can’t you telephone ? ” 

44 Yes, I can, but I’m not going to; I’m going 
to the steamship office.” 

44 Is there a steamship office in HildesheimP ” Mrs. 
Carpenter asked of Dagobert. 

44 It doesn’t make any difference whether there is 
or isn’t,” said her husband ; 44 1 can find out every- 
thing at the station, anyhow.” 

44 1 don’t think that there is a steamship office,” 


60 AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 

said Dagobert in answer to Mrs. Carpenter, “ but 
we can ask the head waiter.” 

Kellner said Mr. Carpenter to a man with two 
bushes of mustache sprouting fiercely in opposite 
directions upon his upper lip, who had just come in, 
66 go ask the Herr Oberkellner to come here.” 

“ Yes, gracious sir,” replied the bushy one, and 
disappeared. 

The Oberkellner came at once, bland and as ever 
smiling. His eyes rested on Dagobert and Mrs. Car- 
penter with a peculiar beam while he listened atten- 
tively to what was asked him. 

Alas, no; there was no steamship office in Hil- 
desheim, one communicated with that of Hanover 
when desiring to obtain steaming information. 

Mr. Carpenter surveyed his table companions in 
a meditative silence. 

“ I told you so,” he said after the head waiter had 
withdrawn. “ Well, I must go down to the station, 
then. You two can go out to walk if you like — only 
don’t be more than an hour. I’ll be back in an hour.” 

Dagobert felt his heart give a big bound; what 
magnanimity on the part of a husband ! 

“Would you like to go to walk?” he asked her, 
striving to keep his voice even. 

“ Immensely,” she answered. 

Mr. Carpenter had risen from the table and was 
lighting a cigar. 

“ You tell them to pack up everything this eve- 
ning,” he said to his wife. “ Make them all under- 
stand that we start at eight tomorrow morning. 
Don’t let there be any mistake. I telegraphed Tiny 
this afternoon, so that’s all off my mind.” 


AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 61 

“Da you think she’ll come?” Mrs. Carpenter 
asked meekly. 

“ Well, if she don’t, she knows where to get more 
money when she needs it,” said Mr. Carpenter. “ I 
am mainly interested in getting the baby and myself 
home.” 

Dagobert had forgotten about the baby in the 
pressure of the other conversation, and this reminder 
of its existence gave him a second painful throb: 

“ Excuse all these domestic details, prince,” said 
Mr. Carpenter ; “ I must really say good-bye now. 
Good-bye, Dolly.” 

Mrs. Carpenter smiled at him and nodded. Then 
he departed. 

“ It’s awfully silly of him to go away down there,” 
she said, “ but he will do it, so it isn’t anybody else’s 
blame. And it’s rather nice to have him gone — 
don’t you think? ” 

Dagobert smiled. Mr. Carpenter in going out 
had left a crack in the door. The Oberkellner came 
now and tenderly closed the crack. 

“ What do you suppose he did that for? ” asked 
the young lady. “ Perhaps he thinks I’m a nihilist, 
too.” 

“ No,” said Dagobert; “ he just wants me to have 
a chance to tell you that everything is arranged so 
that you will not have to sail tomorrow.” 

Her face became positively illumined with joy. 

“ Really ? ” she asked. 

“ Yes, really.” 

“Who did it — you?” 

“ No, the head waiter.” 

“ Do you think he can manage it? ” 


62 


AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 


“ I think so.” 

“ You can’t always rely altogether on a head 
waiter, can you ? ” 

“You can in Germany,” said Dagobert. “ A Ger- 
man head waiter is equal to anything.” 

“How do you think he means to manage?” she 
asked. She had leaned her elbows on the table, and 
was supporting her chin upon her intertwisted fin- 
gers in the favorite American after-coffee pose. 

“ I don’t know,” said Dagobert carelessly. “ He 
said leave all to him, and I’m sure I’m only too happy 
to do so, for it leaves me wholly at leisure to leave 
everything for you.” 

He altogether forgot his good resolutions in the 
fervency of his speech, but Mrs. Carpenter didn’t 
appear to notice; she was knitting her brows. 

“ He must know a way to keep me f rom going,” 
she said thoughtfully, “ because of course if we all 
are once upon that train we’ll sail — nothing on 
earth could stop a German train, you know.” 

Dagobert was obliged to acquiesce there; he did 
so with a mere motion of his head, saying no word. 

“ If we are prevented from going,” Mrs. Carpen- 
ter continued thoughtfully, “ Mr. Carpenter will 
certainly be very, very angry, and I don’t want to 
have to bear it alone. I want Tiny here. I can’t do 
anything with him, but you know how men are once 
they’re married — Tiny can manage him always.” 

Dagobert felt a warm blaze about his heart, but 
still said nothing. 

“ I think,” Mrs. Carpenter went on still more 
slowly, “ that I’ll telegraph Tiny tonight at Dres- 
den. They’ll know at the hotel there whether she’s 


AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 63 

coming or going. If she’s on her way to Bremen 
they’ll know where to forward, and if she hasn’t left 
Vienna they’ll know that, too. Antonio keeps them 
posted always.” 

“ Do yon think that your sister might be hurry- 
ing through to Bremen tonight? ” Dagobert asked. 

“ I haven’t an idea,,” said Mrs. Carpenter frankly. 
44 1 know there’s a train by Leipzig that stops here ; 
I know that because we came on it once. I can tele- 
graph her to try to be here tomorrow. Then I 
sha’n’t have so very long alone with him after he 
finds that he’s lost the boat.” 

44 Perhaps that might be a good idea,” said Dago- 
bert. 44 Write out the telegram and I’ll ring for a 
waiter and send it at once.” He handed her the 
menu, blank side up and his own fountain-pen as he 
spoke, and she began to write while he went to ring. 

The Oberkellner came himself, coughing dis- 
creetly outside the door before he opened it. When 
Dagobert gave him the telegram he smiled even more 
than usual. 

44 You think you can manage that we do not go? ” 
Mrs. Carpenter asked of his blandness. 

44 Most gracious lady, I am perfecting the last 
details at present. Gracious lady need not worry. 
All will be as she wishes.” 

Mrs. Carpenter surveyed him earnestly. 

44 But we must pack, mustn’t we? ” 

44 Oh, I especially request that gracious lady does 
in all things precisely as if she meant to travel at 
eight in the morning.” 

44 Then I must go up and tell them all to keep on 
packing,” she said to Dagobert, rising. 


64 


AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 


He rose, too. 

“ And then we’re going to walk, you know,” he 
reminded her. “ It’s such a fine night and no end 
of delightful walks close by.” 

“ That will be charming,” she said, smiling 
brightly. “ W asn’t it lovely of him to say that I 
could? I can’t think what possessed him — he’s 
usually so strict — but so strict.” 

And then she was gone. 

“ Don’t you make any mistakes in your pro- 
gramme,” Dagobert said to the head waiter when 
they were left alone together. “ Remember that I 
am relying altogether upon you.” 

“ Gracious sir may trust,” said the head waiter 
serenely. 

It was about a half-hour before Mrs. Carpenter 
came down. She had changed her dress and looked 
very fit for walking in her traveling costume and 
little close turban with its two quills at the side. 

“ It’s too jolly, his taking it into his head to go 
to the station like that tonight, isn’t it? ” she said, 
looking frankly into Dagobert’s eyes as if confident 
of acquiescence. “Isn’t it?” 

“ Altogether so,” said he heartily. 

Then they went out of the door and up the Woll- 
enweberstrasse on their way to the Wall. 

“ He’s an awful undertaking,” Mrs. Carpenter 
confided as she went along a sidewalk two feet wide 
and Dagobert kept pace with her in the gutter. “ I 
tell you, I never was so sick of anything in my life 
as I am of him.” She spoke with great feeling. 

“ Is it long? ” Dagobert ventured to inquire. 

“ Nearly three years. Oh, heavens ! ” she an- 


AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 


65 


swered, and then she gave herself a little shake and 
said, 66 I’m always so surprised over how pretty the 
baby is. Don’t you think it’s surprising that he 
should have a pretty baby ? ” 

Dagobert found it impossible to discuss the baby. 
He wanted to say gallantly how little astonished 
anyone could be at the baby’s beauty, but he some- 
how felt a bitter resentment over the baby’s existing 
at all. But his better nature finally struggled to the 
surface and forced him to say that he really con- 
sidered Mr. Carpenter to be a very good-looking 
man. 

Mrs. Carpenter sighed. 

“ Well, maybe so,” she said, “ but I’m awfully 
tired looking at him, I know. Tiny thinks he’s good- 
looking just the same as you do, but my own opinion 
is that the baby took mighty big chances. It might 
have looked just exactly like him ever so easily and 
then whatever could we have done with its nose? 
But luckily it inherited my own father’s nose.” 

“ There,” said Dagobert suddenly, “ that’s the 
Kehrwiederthurm ! ” 

“ Is it, indeed?” said Mrs. Carpenter. “Well, 
you know if it had had his nose it never could have 
been pretty, could it ? ” 

“ I must tell you the legend,” then said Dagobert. 
“ Once upon a time ” 

“ I’ll read it in the Baedeker some day when I’m 
alone,” said Mrs. Carpenter. “ I’d rather talk to 
you now; you’re the first man I’ve had to talk to 
in a month.” 

“ Really? ” 

“ Yes, really. Mr. Carpenter doesn’t like to have 


66 


AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 


young men around. They make him nervous on 
account of Tiny. Tiny’s like me — she likes men.’’ 

Dagobert perceived the moon shining ahead — it 
was located in a position to be considered a good 
omen, but he could not see how any omen could be 
good under the circumstances. They went up the 
path to the promenade that runs along the top of 
the old fortification and followed its summit in the 
direction of the Sedanstrasse. Dagobert walked with 
his head set at an angle which commanded a full view 
of her face, upturned toward the moonbeams. She 
was positively one of the prettiest sights that he had 
ever looked upon. He was conscious of a fearful 
heartache that was growing steadily worse and 
worse. 

“ I’m so glad that we have money enough so that 
I never have to pack,” Mrs. Carpenter said presently. 
“ I’d so much rather be out walking with you to- 
night.” 

“ It is nice,” he assented. “ I should hate to have 
had you spend this evening packing.” 

“ Yes, it would have been an awful shame,” she 
said simply. 

They strolled on until they reached the end and 
then turned back and walked the other way, going on 
and on, past the Kleine Venedig, the Magdalena- 
kirche and all the rest. Finally the Andreaskirche 
bells, tolling nine, made them turn toward home. 
Dagobert felt that that day was almost over. 

Such a wonderful day! Such a bewildering day! 
A day upon which more had happened than he had 
ever before dreamed possible; a day that would 
probably cost him no end of pain in its consequences, 


AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 


67 


and yet a day from whose consequences he had not 
the slightest intention of drawing back. 

“ I am glad that we happened to meet,” she said, 
as they zigzagged through the narrow streets on 
their way back to the hotel. 

44 I am, too,” he declared heartily. 

44 When are you coming back to America ? ” she 
asked a minute after. 

44 Dear me, I don’t know,” he said. 44 I’m travel- 
ing with another fellow, you see.” 

It came to him with a curious stab how ready he 
had been to abandon St. Eloi earlier in the day — 
before he had fully comprehended what had hap- 
pened. 

44 Is he nice? ” she asked earnestly. 

44 Nice enough,” he answered, laughing a little. 
44 He’s French — we were boys together at Ouchy 
ten years ago.” 

44 Is he as nice as you ? ” she asked, lifting up her 
beautiful eyes to him in the moon-rays. 

Dagobert laughed with a curious choke in his 
throat. 

44 Oh, of course not,” he declared. 

Then she laughed, too. 

44 1 hope I’ll meet him some day,” she said. 

44 1 hope that you will,” he answered, 44 and I hope 
that I’ll be there when you do.” 

44 Why? ” 

44 Because I want to meet you again myself.” His 
voice sank as he spoke the words ; he did not want to 
say them, and yet he could not bear to leave them 
unsaid. 

44 Do you ? ” she spoke very earnestly. 


68 


AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 


“ Yes, I do.” 

She made no answer and he kept silence, too, until 
they reached the hotel. When they entered, the 
Oberkellner met them, beaming. 

44 All is arranged,” he said. 44 All is so well ar- 
ranged I have only to pray — to entreat your gra- 
ciousnesses to trust completely.” 

44 I’m quite ready to trust you,” said Mrs. Car- 
penter ; 44 only I want to be sure that I don’t go.” 

44 Gracious lady will not go, never fear,” said the 
smiling Oberkellner. 

The gracious lady thereupon went up to see how 
matters stood above, and Dagobert made up his mind 
to wait in the lower hall and see if either she or Mr. 
Carpenter might require any further friendly serv- 
ices of him before retiring. 

Mr. Carpenter not getting back from the station 
as speedily as he had anticipated the pseudo-prince 
was rewarded for his courtesy by seeing Mrs. Car- 
penter return below, her face illumined with joy. 

44 Oh, I am positively too happy to live ! ” she 
cried on seeing him. 44 This came from Tiny while 
we were out, and she is on the train tonight coming 
nearer every minute and planning to meet us to- 
morrow morning in Hanover ! Isn’t she a dear ? ” 

44 Yes, indeed,” said Dagobert, joyous in her joy, 
although growing more depressed hourly on his own 
account. 

44 And most of the packing is done, too,” she con- 
tinued, 44 and Dr. Gibben is too pleased for words 
that we sail tomorrow. You see, as soon as they get 
back he’s going to marry the baby’s trained nurse.” 

44 Is that so ? ” said Dagobert. 


AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 


69 


“ Yes ; it’s been a very convenient arrangement 
because the baby makes such a bond between them 
that they never neglect him. But it seems rather 
mean to think how they are all to be fooled tomor- 
row, don’t you think ? ” 

66 Oh, I don’t know. They’ll be married plenty long 
enough, anyway, probably.” He spoke a little bit- 
terly. 

“ I wish you wouldn’t say things like that,” said 
Mrs. Carpenter seriously ; “ I don’t like cynical 

men, and I don’t like jokes about marriage. Mar- 
riage isn’t any joke and it ought not to be joked 
about.” 

“ I’ll try to remember,” said poor Dagobert. 

“ But I do wonder how the Oberkellner has ar- 
ranged things,” she continued. “ I want to go to 
bed, and I keep feeling as if maybe something was 
about to happen.” 

“ We shall soon know now,” said Dagobert. “ It 
is nearly ten, and whatever is to happen must hap- 
pen by eight tomorrow morning.” 

“ Do you suppose he means to change the clocks 
and get us to the station too late? I hope he isn’t 
attempting that, for Mr. Carpenter travels with his 
own alarm-clock.” 

“ All we can do is to trust him.” 

“ Yes, but I do wish that I knew.” 

There was a little pause, during which she rubbed 
her eyes sleepily. 

“ I do wonder,” she then suggested anxiously, 
“ where Mr. Carpenter can be. You don’t suppose 
that they could have kidnapped him, do you? ” 

“ Good heavens,” exclaimed Dagobert, with a 
start, “ I never thought of that ! ” 


70 


AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 


“ Oh, no, that couldn’t be,” said Mrs. Carpenter. 

“ Why not ? ” All Dagobert’s thoughts were 
clashing together pellmell, Mr. Carpenter’s jealousy 
and the fact that his wife was his wife being upper- 
most in the confusion. 

“ Because I hear him getting out of a cab,” said 
she calmly. 

True enough, Mr. Carpenter was just getting out 
of a cab at the door. Hurrying in, he explained to 
them that he had been communicating with Tiny in 
Leipzig over the long-distance telephone. 

“ It took the most unconscionable time,” he ex- 
plained. 

“ I thought that she was on the train now,” said 
Mrs. Carpenter. 

“ No, they have to wait in Leipzig until eleven.” 

“ Let’s go to bed,” said Mrs. Carpenter. “ I’m 
sure I’m sleepy, and you are, too, and probably the 
prince is also.” 

“ I certainly am,” said Dagobert, suddenly con- 
scious of how late he had been up the night before 
and how strenuous a day was drawing to a close. 

“ Bless me, I declare I forgot that you were a 
prince,” said Mr. Carpenter ; “ you do look for all 
the world so like an American ! Well, ring for some 
hot water for me.” 

Dagobert rang. Mrs. Carpenter began to mount 
the stairs slowly. 

“ You’d better come down early and see us off, 
prince,” Mr. Carpenter said agreeably, as he fol- 
lowed suit. 

u Yes, I certainly will,” said Dagobert. 

Then the waiter came and he told him about the 
hot water, and departed above, himself. 


IV 


I N spite of his fatigue Dagobert found himself 
unable to sleep that night. His body luxuriated 
in a spread-out-full-length attitude, but his mind 
seemed more wakefully inclined than he had ever 
known before. It chased wildly around among the 
events of the day just past and showed him himself 
in so many new and inconsistent characters that he 
was altogether bewildered. He felt that his situation 
in regard to the advertisement and its consequences 
was absurd; that his trust in the wit of the waiter 
was wholly without foundation; that he belonged 
anywhere in the world rather than in Hildesheim; 
and that the shade of Konigsmark and the sarcasm 
of St. Eloi would have a right now to track him till 
he died. Of course then he thought about Mrs. Car- 
penter and her sweet face and girlish ways, and 
didn’t blame himself, and cursed himself, turn and 
turn about. His good sense feared that in the catas- 
trophe to ensue upon the morrow he would lose for- 
ever the friendship of her husband, in which case his 
chances of meeting her again would probably dimin- 
ish very materially. He writhed at that even while 
he told himself that it was very likely all for the best. 

A man rarely ever sets out deliberately to fall in 
love, but having once fallen in love, he never wants 
to be barred away from its object, if she is married 


72 


AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 


even less so than if she isn’t. Dagobert was an un- 
commonly decent fellow, but he was no exception to 
any of the usual rules of mankind. He knew now 
that he was desperately in love with Mrs. Carpenter, 
he had no intention of pursuing her or attempting to 
ruin her peace of mind; but he did want, hope, and 
intend to see more of her. And he did not relish the 
idea of possibly seeing his castle crumble in the air. 

Altogether his night was one of restlessness and 
torments, and only toward dawn did he fall into an 
uneasy sleep. It seemed that it was hardly on him 
when it was off again by reason of some fearful crash 
over his head. 

He started up in bed. It sounded as if the very 
Wienerhof were falling about his ears at first and 
then he recollected at once that it must be the con- 
veying below of the extensive Carpenter luggage. 
Reference to his watch told him that it was a quarter 
of eight. He sprang to the bell and rang it violently. 

The head waiter himself answered. This was sur- 
prising, as the head waiter does not usually respond 
to the first ringing of strangers. Hot water is more 
often what they desire in the morning — and hot 
water is what they usually get. 

Still, in Dagobert’s case the head waiter was most 
welcome. 

“ Isn’t that the trunks being taken down P ” he 
asked. 

The head waiter nodded a smiling assent. His 
blandness had increased perceptibly during the night. 

“ Gracious sir must trust blindly,” he said. “ All 
is perfectly arranged. The gracious lady has already 
departed, her maid also.” 


AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 7? 

“ Madame has departed! ” Dagobert cried, as- 
tonished. 

“ Yes, gracious sir, but I must beg for the utmost 
confidence. I only ask unlimited trust. Success is 
certain. Hermann has all in charge. I shall myself 
have the honor to accompany the party to the station. 
Every detail is ordered exactly. There can be no 
slip.” 

Dagobert looked at the man: the breadth of his 
smile was only to be equaled by the depth of his 
assurance. 

“ Can you swear to all that? ” the American asked. 

“ Gracious sir may depend upon me,” said the Ger- 
man, “ and I am also willing to swear,” he added ; 
“ to fail is human, but in this case failure is impos- 
sible.” 

Dagobert dismissed him with a gesture and began 
at once to dress. The disorder outside continued, and 
after a while Mr. Carpenter’s voice was heard domi- 
nating the tumult. Shortly after the younger man 
completed his toilet and emerged into the hall. The 
luggage was still descending in apparently unlimited 
quantities, and Mr. Carpenter in a cosmopolitan 
get-up, helped out by certain expediting native epi- 
thets, was supervising things in general, without ap- 
pearing to hasten matters to any great extent. 

Dagobert could not but admire the readiness with 
which the head waiter was helping the departure on. 
He was continually taking things from Hermann and 
putting them somewhere else, calling to the second 
porter to put down what he was carrying and lend a 
hand elsewhere, stopping trunks on their way below 
to the end that he might be personally positive of their 


74 AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 

being correctly strapped, and in short doing all that 
he possibly could to prove his sincere interest in the 
task at hand. 

Dagobert felt such a longing to see the game 
through that he suggested going to the station. 

“ Yes, do,” said Mr. Carpenter. “ Why don’t you 
come on over to Hanover with us? It’ll just make a 
nice break in your day.” 

Dagobert wondered whether he wouldn’t. The idea 
made it necessary to draw the head waiter to one side 
and demand fresh assurance. 

“ Yes, the gracious sir will do well to go to Han- 
over. . . . Oh, as to the bill — never mind. That 
will all adjust itself later.” 

Dagobert looked hard at the man. 

“ Gracious sir,” he said with an impressiveness 
known only to head waiters, “ leave all to me. I may 
repeat to you a thousand times that all will move on 
to complete triumph if I am to be trusted.” 

Hermann and another man passing down with an- 
other trunk ended the conversation. It was the last. 

“Now, then, where’s the baby?” Mr. Carpenter 
called from the hall below. The maids scurried up 
to produce the baby, and the opening of the door 
above told that it was most lustily alive. Dagobert 
flew for his hat and coat, and as he emerged he saw 
the Carpenter heir being taken below by his nurse, 
his trained nurse and his body physician. Seeing 
the baby gave him the same awful wrench that he had 
felt the evening before, but he could not wait to 
sound its secret springs and merely hastened down- 
stairs in his turn. 

Mr. Carpenter stood in the hall below settling his 
difference with the landlord. 


AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 


75 


“ Did you get any breakfast, prince? ” he asked 
Dagobert. 

44 I never eat it — we don’t.” 

44 Oh, I forgot ; well, come on, then.” 

The Wienerhof omnibus and two carriages were at 
the door. All the school children who passed that way 
were banked up about staring at the tremendousness 
of the entire affair. 

The head waiter, in hat and coat, came out and got 
into the omnibus and drove away first. The baby and 
his escort took the next carriage ; Mr. Carpenter and 
Dagobert had the last. 

44 Why did Mrs. Carpenter go so early? ” Dago- 
bert was fain to inquire. 

44 1 don’t know,” said Mr. Carpenter. 44 1 never 
know why she does anything.” 

They were just turning into the Zingel, and at the 
turning the carriage stopped. 

44 What’s the matter? ” Mr. Carpenter asked. 

44 Nothing to speak of, gracious sir.” The man on 
the box was getting down as he spoke, and Mr. Car- 
penter at once opened the door and got down, too. 

44 Good I always allow liberal time,” he said as he 
joined in the trouble fore. 44 Why, I don’t see any- 
thing wrong here.” 

There was something wrong, at any rate. The 
driver was much distressed ; he ran from side to side 
and back again and undid buckles and did them up. 
In the end he fussed so much that Mr. Carpenter 
began to chafe and then to swear. Dagobert felt that 
the first meshes of the plot were beginning to weave, 
so at last he jumped out, too, and ran back and forth 
and swore some also. 


76 


AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 


44 1 tell you, it’s all damned foolishness,” Mr. Car- 
penter exclaimed finally. 44 That harness is all right ; 
you get up and drive on. Do you hear ? ” 

The driver climbed back on his seat and drove on, 
and after that they went at a fairly brisk pace. 
Around at the station the head waiter was standing 
smiling before the great door, awaiting them. The 
remainder of the party were above on the platform, 
he said, but the luggage was waiting, since it was 
not known on what tickets it was to be checked. Mr. 
Carpenter produced the tickets, and the head waiter 
undertook the checking. He was gone so long that 
Mr. Carpenter’s liberal time allowance began to be 
very sensibly short, and he finally lost patience and 
hurried over himself. But the man was just handing 
the paper checks, and the head waiter passed them 
to Mr. Carpenter at once, although he was to honor 
them by his company above. 

From this point on affairs thickened rapidly. They 
went through the gates and to the fourth staircase, 
then discovered that they had been misinformed and 
had to come back to the first. The train was already 
in and Hermann, who was to have stood guard by the 
car containing their reserved compartments, was not 
to be seen anywhere. 

Dagobert was very anxious to see Mrs. Carpenter, 
awfully nervous for fear nothing would happen, aw- 
fully nervous for fear something had happened, 
awfully nervous in the knowledge that the moment 
was so close when something must happen. Mr. Car- 
penter’s excitement and perturbation were beginning 
to pass all bounds. The train was tremendously long 
and part of it was corridor and part of it wasn’t. 


AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 


77 


Two coupes were reserved in his name and Hermann 
had been instructed to stand at the door until the 
last member of the family was entered therein. Her- 
mann had evidently misunderstood, or disobeyed, or 
both. In the end there was nothing to do — the 
guard was closing the doors — but for the two gen- 
tlemen to “ get in anywhere.” Travelers know what 
it means when one has paid for a first-class ticket 
and a reserved carriage to be obliged to “ get in any- 
where.” Mr. Carpenter scowled, swore, and laid his 
hand upon the guard-rail. Dagobert was close be- 
hind him ; the train bell was ringing. And just then 
the head waiter, who had been rushing madly about 
in a way that showed how readily dignity may be 
overcome by anxiety to find Hermann, laid eyes upon 
him, four cars further back. Hermann was waving 
vigorously. 

“ The gracious lady must be there ! ” exclaimed the 
Oberkellner, signaling Hermann with a fervor that 
equaled his own. 

“ What is it ? ” Mr. Carpenter asked. 

“ I think Mrs. Carpenter is further back,” Dago- 
bert answered. “ Hermann seems to be there.” 

“ Well, it’s too late to change now,” said the hus- 
band in deep disgust ; “ the bell is ringing.” 

'* “Shall I run back and make sure?” his friend 
suggested, seeing an indication of Fate’s having 
possibly arranged for him to travel to Hanover with 
Mrs. Carpenter. 

“ I don’t believe you’ll have time to get there and 
get aboard. Better wait and we can get together 
when we change at Lehrte.” 

Just then the head waiter hurried up to them. 


78 


AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 


“ Gracious sir,” he said to Dagobert, “ I pray you 
at once — without a second’s delay — ” He seized 
him by the arm where he was standing just by the 
train-step. 

“Good heavens, what's the matter now?” Mr. 
Carpenter exclaimed. 

“ I appeal — I implore — ” said the head waiter 
with impressive earnestness. 

Dagobert felt that he had no choice but to yield 
to the man’s importunity. 

“ The train will not go without you,” said the head 
waiter assuringly ; “ it will wait. Come, come quick ! ” 
He hurried him as he spoke across the wide platform 
and into the little room where all ticket differences 
are adjusted satisfactorily. Once inside he closed the 
door. Dagobert looked out of the window. 

The train was moving slowly out of the station ! 

He made one fierce spring, and the head waiter 
grabbed his arm. 

“ Gracious sir,” he said — he was again all smiles 
— “ all is over. Madame is not on the train.” 

“ Not on the train ! ” cried the young man. 

“ No.” 

“ Where is she? ” 

“ At the Wienerhof.” 

Dagobert reeled against the telegraph desk. 

“ At the Wienerhof ! ” he cried in indescribable 
accents. 

“ Yes, gracious sir — I promised you that she 
should not go, and she has not gone. Moreover, it 
is very easy to represent to her husband that it was 
all a blunder which I only discovered at this latest 
moment. He saw me rush with you to the telegraph 
office. Too late ! ” 


AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 


79 


Dagobert took out a handkerchief and wiped his 
forehead. His brains were so far in abeyance that 
he could not decide whether to hug the head waiter 
for his daring ingenuity or whether to knock him 
down. But in a few seconds the enormity of the whole 
thing flashed over him and he very nearly reeled 
again. What Mr. Carpenter would think, what Mr. 
Carpenter would do, the utter folly of supposing for 
a second that Mr. Carpenter would believe — ! Oh, 
how far, how much too far, how much too much too 
far the clever Oberkellner had gone! 

44 What is Mrs. Carpenter supposed to have done 
with herself? ” he asked after a moment. 

44 Gracious sir, it is intended to represent that she 
boarded by mistake the train that passed before this.” 

44 Is there any other train that could get her to the 
boat in time to sail now ? ” Dagobert’s tone was slow 
and distinct. 

44 That will take her to the boat ! ” said the man 
in a tone that showed that he doubted his sense of 
hearing. 

44 God, man,” said Dagobert, 44 do you realize what 
you’ve done ! ” 

The head waiter stared, bewildered. 

44 Gracious sir is not pleased? ” he faltered at last. 

44 Pleased! Pleased that you have done this? No, 
I’m not pleased, certainly.” 

The Oberkellner’s face began to turn pale. 

44 What did the gracious sir desire me to do? ” he 
asked. 

44 1 desired the family prevented from sailing.” 

44 The family ! ” The Oberlcellner’s tones approxi- 
mated a shriek. 44 The family ! But gracious sir said 


80 


AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 


only the gracious lady; he declared repeatedly that 
only the gracious lady must be prevented by some 
accident from sailing!” 

Dagobert felt something like a heat flash go over 
him. The man was certainly right — he saw the 
whole thing clearly now. What a mess! What an 
awful, awful, awful mess! 

“ Come,” he said, “ come, let us hurry to the hotel. 
Perhaps — ” He didn’t finish the sentence. He 
dashed away toward the staircase and the waiter 
came running after him. The latter’s face had lost 
all its joyous beaming; he felt that in the supreme 
moment his success had been crowned with failure. 

Outside of the station Dagobert leaped into a cab. 

“ Get in with me,” he said to his accomplice. “ The 
Wienerhof — quick ! ” he called to the cabman. The 
taximetre rattled away and then the American turned 
to the German and demanded fiercely: 

“ How did you keep her behind? Did you lock 
her up?” 

“ No, gracious sir ; I only begged her to remain 
in her room until sent for. Gracious sir is prayed 
to remember that it was represented to me as of the 
greatest importance that the gracious lady did not 
leave for Bremen today.” 

It seemed as if the exposition of the whole truth 
would cast Dagobert out of the cab and on to the 
stones in an access of mad despair. 

“ My God ! ” he groaned in English, “ I have 
taken a married woman away from her husband with- 
out meaning to be anything but obliging.” Then he 
wondered if he ought not to have telegraphed the 
train at Lehrte. “ What will she say? What will 


AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 81 

she do? ” he reflected, in acute misery. “ Can I tele- 
graph direct to Lehrte from the hotel?” he asked 
the head waiter. The head waiter was looking fear- 
fully blue. He bowed his head sadly. 

They turned the corner of the Zingel and passed 
into the Friesenstrasse — the Wienerhof was close at 
hand. Dagobert felt his heart beset with so many 
and such terrible emotions that he really hardly knew 
what he did feel. 

The cab stopped. 

“ You pay him,” he said to the waiter. “ What 
room is it ? The same as yesterday ? ” 

The head waiter nodded yes and he flew in and up 
the stairs. The room was up two flights and he 
climbed them two steps at a time. It was the large 
room in the middle. He rapped. 

“ Felice,” said Mrs. Carpenter’s voice inside, “ see 
what that is.” 

Felice opened the door. 

Dagobert saw into the room and nearly fell over 
backward. 

The room was in nice order and strewn over with 
the evidence of traveling luxury in an unpacked state. 
The maid was trim and neat in her usual uniform. 
Mrs. Carpenter sat at a small table breakfasting; she 
had on a peignoir tied with rose ribbons. 

“ Dear me, is it you? ” she said, in great surprise. 

“ Mr. Carpenter told me last night that he meant 
to ask you to go to Hanover with him. I didn’t ex- 
pect you back until afternoon. Tell me, how did you 
do it? ” 

Dagobert dragged a chair to the opposite side of 
the small table and sat feebly down. 


AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 


82 

“ Are we both gone mad ? ” he asked. 

Mrs. Carpenter looked at him, and the smile and 
fun died out of her face. 

“ Oh, I forgot that you didn’t know,” she said ; 
and then she leaned forward and took his hand be- 
tween both her own. 

“ Forgive me,” she said. “ You see, I’m so 
thoughtless, I always forget that you don’t know. 
But really, I had a right to stay behind if I wanted 
to; I’m not his wife.” 

“ Not his wife ! ” 

“ No,” she shook her head ; “ it was so much easier 
than to keep explaining because Tiny and I are twins 
and look so much alike. It was simpler all around. 
I didn’t mind traveling with him a bit, for I really 
like Mr. Carpenter, and Tiny so wanted a rest, but 
I couldn’t be forever explaining, so I just let it go. 
I meant to tell you, but it always slipped my mind.” 

“ Not his wife!” 

“ Oh, no,” she shook her head again, “ I’m not any- 
one’s wife. I’m not married. I’m only Tiny’s sister. 
I hope you don’t mind very much? ” She looked at 
him as she spoke. 

“ Mind ! ” He was unable to voice more than the 
one syllable. 

“ But I’m so curious about it all. Do tell me now 
— how did you manage to get him off? ” 

Dagobert rested his head in his hands ; he could 
not help it. All his senses were swaying dizzily back 
and forth; he couldn't understand. 

“And I’ve just had a telegram from Tiny,” con- 
tinued the whilom Mrs. Carpenter ; “ she’ll meet them 
at Hanover. That will make everything all right. I 


AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 83 

telegraphed to Lehrte that I’d heard from her and 
she would meet them at Hanover. I telegraphed, too, 
for them to send me the companion and Antonio so 
that I would be all right. I’m going on to Paris, you 
know, and of course I want to be all right. I sent the 
telegram, too, as soon as I saw you all drive away 
from the door. Isn’t the head waiter a dear? He 
came up and told me just to rely wholly on him and 
I would not have to go. Tell me, how did you man- 
age? ” 

Dagobert looked at her. 

44 I am completely bewildered,” he said at last. 
44 Am I awake or am I dreaming? ” 

“ I do believe you haven’t had any breakfast,” she 
said, laughing. 44 Felice, run quickly and order an- 
other breakfast up here.” 

Felice obediently fled. 

44 But what are you going to do now ? ” Dagobert 
asked, still leaning his head on his hand and still look- 
ing at her. 

44 Do ? Why, go on to Paris with the companion ; 
she’ll be here this afternoon, you know — just as soon 
as Tiny meets Mr. Carpenter.” 

44 By George, it’s like the changing scenes in a 
panorama,” said poor Dagobert. 44 Do you mind tell- 
ing me your real name? ” 

44 Dolly Carpenter. It’s all one family — only Mr. 
Carpenter was just distant enough to marry Tiny.” 

44 Then I only need to learn to say Miss instead of 
Mrs. Carpenter? ” 

44 Yes, that’s all.” 

A waiter came in with Dagobert’s breakfast, and 
while the latter was eating it a telegram arrived from 
Lehrte. 


84 AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 

Most astonished. Sailing anyhow. 

L. Carpenter. 

“Now, isn’t that nice?” Miss Dolly said pleas- 
antly. “ Dear me, but it’s good to be rid of him. 
And to think that Tiny really is ever so fond of 
him ! I can’t understand it.” 

Just then another telegram came in. This time for 
Dagobert. 

Your letter of credit found in my waistcoat. How 
long do you mean to stay there? 

St. Eloi. 

Dagobert jumped with the vividness of his recol- 
lection. So that’s what he had done when he trans- 
ferred his bill-book in the confusion of mutual hooks ! 
And St. Eloi had worn the waistcoat to Herrenhausen 
on the following morning. 

“ Here’s luck,” he told his companion. “ I’ve got 
my money back.” 

“Your money back!” said Miss Carpenter. “I 
thought you told me that you were poor.” 

“ Only temporarily,” laughed Dagobert ; “ only 
very temporarily. But what luck ! ” 

“ What luck — how ? ” 

“ Why, it made me answer the advertisement.” 

“ Oh, so it did. And so we grew to know each 
other.” 

They exchanged smiles. Dagobert’s breakfast had 
done him a world of good. 

“ I must go down and give that head waiter a hun- 
dred marks on account,” he said suddenly. “ I was 


AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 85 

so upset when I thought he had caused me to separate 
you from your husband that I think perhaps he’s 
gone into melancholia by this time.” 

“ Oh, yes, do be nice to him, because we’re really 
most awfully obliged to him, aren’t we? ” 

“ I am, I know,” said Dagobert heartily. 

“ I’m sure that I am,” said his vis-a-vis. Then she 
took one more little piece of bread, and said gently: 
“ You wouldn’t have come between me and my hus- 
band, for anything, would you? ” 

Dagobert felt hot. 

“I — I’d have tried not to, I hope,” he stammered. 

“ You wouldn’t like a woman if she was married, 
would you? ” she went on, smiling. 

“ I might like her,” he confessed, “ but I’d try to 
keep it under and be decent.” 

“ But you wouldn’t fall in love with her? ” 

He looked straight down at his coffee-cup. 

66 1 might not be able to help loving her,” he said 
steadily. “We can’t always help that, you know. 
But we can keep from letting anyone know it.” 

Miss Dolly bowed her face upon her two hands and 
burst into laughter of the purest and most unaffected 
kind. 

“ Oh, my goodness me,” she exclaimed, “ do you 
think that you really did that? Oh, you funny man! 
Do go away now and settle the head waiter and after- 
wards I’ll settle you.” 

Dagobert looked at her bowed head. She was still 
laughing heartily. He felt doubtful as to everything 
in the wide world, and then all of a sudden he felt 
quite strong and confident. 

“ After I’m done with the waiter,” he said, “ let 
us go out and celebrate our anniversary.” 


86 


AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 


She lifted up her head. 

“ Anniversary of what? ” 

“ Why, of our first meeting yesterday.” 

She began to laugh again at that and agreed — 
still laughing — to be ready to go out in an hour. 

Dagobert went downstairs to the head waiter. It 
took barely five minutes to restore him to his usual 
beaming condition. Hermann came in for a share of 
the golden shower, as did nearly everyone else in the 
house. 

And then he went to the telephone and conversed 
with St. Eloi in Hanover, asking him to go to the 
station and meet the Carpenter party and arrange all 
the business there. St. Eloi was quite willing; he 
promised to explain Dagobert’s family and finances 
to Mr. Carpenter and his wife, even if he had to 
accompany them as far as Bremerhafen to do it 
thoroughly. He also undertook to see that the com- 
panion was promptly forwarded. 

Miss Dolly came down just as Dagobert was finish- 
ing his telephoning. She certainly was a very pretty 
girl, and it was astonishing the way it brightened life 
to know that she wasn’t married. 

“ As this is our anniversary, shall we take our usual 
walk ? ” Dagobert asked. 

64 Oh, yes,” she said; so they went back by the 
Andreaskirche, the Eggermeggerstrasse, and the 
Roland hospital. It was the same sort of a gorgeous 
sunshiny day as that of yesterday, only to them it 
seemed infinitely more wonderful. 

“ What ages it seems since we first met ! ” she sug- 
gested, tipping her head so sweetly to one side that 
Dagobert reflected for the first time since a future 


AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 87 

had become possible how dearly he should like to kiss 
her. 

“ It does seem a long time,” he said solemnly. “ Let 
us always come back here for our anniversaries.” 

She laughed. 

“ I don’t see why you laugh,” he said in a tone of 
remonstrance. “ I fully intend to have ever so many 
of them, so why not here? ” 

She only laughed again. 

After a while she sobered, though, and said : 

“ But didn’t I do well as a wife? Wasn’t I always 
just as nice as I could be? — and so exasperating as 
he was, too — but exasperating ! ” 

“ As a wife you are ideal,” said Dagobert; “ only 
I will confess I didn’t like much your being Mr. Car- 
penter’s wife.” 

She stopped where the street widens by the old 
Michaeliplatz. He stopped, too. 

“ What is it ? ” he asked. 

“ Why, I thought that you were going to say 
something more,” she said. “ It was such a good 
chance, but if you didn’t think of it, never mind.” 

Dagobert had to laugh in his turn. 

“ Perhaps I did think of saying it,” he said, “ but 
twenty-four hours would be such a good reason for 
you to refuse, you know.” 

“ That’s true,” she said soberly, “ and if I didn’t 
refuse I know Tiny would think me lacking pride. 
She refused Mr. Carpenter nine times — she says it is 
the proper way.” 

“ Nine times is a good many,” said Dagobert. 

“ Don’t you think three or four would be quite enough 
under ordinary circumstances ? ” 


88 


AN ORIGINAL GENTLEMAN 


“ Once has always been enough with me up to now,” 
said Miss Dolly ; “ but then, of course, if you don't 
mean to marry a man you refuse him in a very differ- 
ent way from if you do mean to marry him. Tiny 
always cried when she refused Mr. Carpenter, and 
let him keep right on sending her violets. Of course 
he kept on proposing to her.” 

44 Would you cry if — ? ” Dagobert asked, look- 
ing intently at the Michaelikirche. 

She tipped her head on one side some more and 
reflected. 

44 You are not a bit like Mr. Carpenter,” she said 
at last. 

44 But do you mind the difference? ” 

She reflected a little more and then she said sud- 
denly : 

44 I’ll tell you. Madame Mas j on and I will start 
for Paris this afternoon. Why don’t you come there 
after a little and look us up at the Hotel de Bade ? ” 

44 May I, really ? ” he asked. 

She just looked at him. 

44 May you, really? ” she repeated in great scorn. 
44 Don’t you know girls better than to ask things like 
that? ” 

He bit his mustache. 

44 When did you say you thought of leaving? ” he 
asked. 

44 This afternoon.” 

44 Well, I leave tomorrow. So expect me! ” 

Miss Dolly looked down at her glove. 

44 Must I, really ? ” she said demurely. 44 Oh, dear 
— I mean, how nice ! ” 


AS TOLD BY RENAUD’S WIFE 



OILA! ” she leaned forward and glanced out 


V of the window, then, nodding, “ Yes, it is 
Varel. Ah, the poor man ! ” 

I looked after the great painter as he crossed 
beneath the interweaving shadows of the lindens, his 
bowed head and stooped shoulders more bowed and 
more stooping than ever, and my look spoke my in- 
terest, even if my tongue was dumb. 

She — Madame Renaud — caught the look with 
its question and replied straightway, half-smiling, 
half-sighing: 

“ And yet he was blithe and young once, monsieur. 
Ah, yes, young and blithe and good to look upon — 
so good to look upon. And in but one day it all 
changed — all changed — et pour tou jours. Would 
one believe it? And yet it is so.” 

She paused and sighed, turned the child in her arms 
so that its sleep was yet further eased, and looked 
with sweetly saddened eyes where the figure of Varel 
was fast disappearing among the court shrubberies. 
I turned my eyes toward her, expectant, waiting, and 
after a minute she went on: 

“ It was in Paris, monsieur, years and years ago. 
We all lived there. Julien (Varel’s first name is 
Julien, you know), and his sister, and Renaud (he 


90 AS TOLD BY RENAUD’S WIFE 


was not my husband then), and myself. That was 
how I first came to know them all — the three others. 
We were four young people and we were dear friends. 
The sister of Yarel was such a pretty girl — but so 
frail. I may tell monsieur in utter truth that one 
may not be so frail and last in Paris. Paris takes 
strength and it had been a hard struggle. For a 
long, long time, too. He — Varel — had copied pa- 
pers and done all manner of things so that they might 
live and so that he might continue to paint. She 
worked in a shop, braiding straw. Not good pay, 
but not hard work. She was not fit for hard work, 
oh, la pauvre petite ! I do not know just what hard- 
ships had been survived before, but when I came into 
the adjoining mansard they were yet many. I was 
their neighbor for several months before Renaud’s 
arrival. That was when he had the idea of being 
a painter also — Dieu , what labor he did there — 
until God in His infinite mercy saw fit to take his 
f ather, when this property naturally — but la, that is 
altogether another part of the story. 

“ Varel and his sister were very poor and yet not 
altogether miserable. There were days when a little 
pleasure might be permitted, and on such days we 
four went up the river into the fresh air to enjoy the 
green that, to my thinking, is quite as truly heaven’s 
color as the blue above us. On such days we laughed 
and sang and forgot our narrow windows and our 
narrow means, and Varel used to be the gayest of all 
— very different f rom what he is now. He would 
joke merrily and make little poesies on his sister’s 
hair, and my eyes, and Renaud would applaud and we 
would all enjoy every sweet minute as it passed. And 


AS TOLD BY RENAUD’S WIFE 91 

when we were quiet he used to make sketches of the 
trees and skies and of ourselves, and they were so true 
that even I — who understand nothing of pictures — 
was lost in a wonder of admiration for his. 

“ I have one in my Bible now of Lotte (his sister’s 
name was Lotte) and Renaud, sitting together be- 
neath the willows at Meudon. He often drew Lotte 
and Renaud together — it was but natural that he 
should. Lotte was so delicate and Renaud always 
guarded her weakness as a father might have done. 
It was he who cared for her footsteps and I only loved 
him the better for it. It never came to me to feel 
otherwise. Why should I have felt otherwise? Even 
then, in the first days of our knowing one another, 
was it not in his eyes for me — for me alone? Did 
he not tell me — but there ! that is no part of this ! 

“ It was the second Winter after the beginning that 
the end approached — the altering of Yarel. It was 
the Prize that did it. Monsieur knows how the Prize 
comes into the veins as a fever, and how it drives the 
students mad and is bread and sleep to them for weeks 
often and often. If it was a fever to the rest, it was 
a delirium to Julien, and monsieur divines why — 
because he might not hope. He might only think and 
dream of the Winter in Italy, and the possibilities 
and the honor ! There was no help — oh, that poor, 
so poor boy ! . . . 

“ Monsieur, he hoped not and yet he planned his 
picture — the * Fleur Voilee / monsieur has seen it? 
I too. Ah, we wept, Renaud and I. We were in Paris 
the year after and we stood before it and wept — 
Renaud and I. He is so sensitive and tender-hearted 
— mon bon Renaud ! So sensitive and tender-hearted ! 


92 AS TOLD BY RENAUD’S WIFE 

Never calf goes to market but — Ah, I wander 
again. 

64 Monsieur, it was an occasion for despair — the 
way that Yarel felt about that picture! He craved 
to do it with his whole heart and soul — aye, and with 
his stomach, too, for, had he been alone, he would 
gladly have starved to pay a model to sit for him 
as others — many, many others — have done before 
him. But Dieu! Dieu! that winter he could pay 
nothing. He was not alone, and we — all we who 
were not rich — were like to freeze. It was wood 
and wood, and yet once more wood — no single sou 
for anything else. But, although the spirit of Julien 
shone in misery back of the bigness of his eyes, yet 
he labored in silence and we only knew of the cry 
within him because it was there and one heard it in 
the air itself. 

44 It was for that they were so wretched — the two 
Varels — that when the news of the illness of Re- 
naud’s father came, we smothered it between us, 
Renaud and I. I said to him, 4 If you come to be 
able you will surely give to them, and so why dazzle 
their eyes when it is so possible that your father 
may recover, after all.’ Renaud saw the wisdom of 
that and took my advice. He had such an opinion 
of my wisdom and advice — monsieur can hardly 
conceive. Why, only last week when it was a ques- 
tion of blue or red tiles he — but how I run on, 
forgetting all that I set out to tell ! 

44 Still, anyone could see how Julien was riven with 
his desire to paint, and it was then that Lotte came 
to me. She was so timid and quiet — la petite Lotte. 
I always called her 4 la petite and felt thus toward 


AS TOLD BY RENAUD’S WIFE 93 

her, although Renaud declares I was then as small 
and as slight myself. She trembled and hesitated 
that day until my mind came to dread a thousand 
catastrophes, and then at last she told me her errand, 
and monsieur must believe that my heart choked me 
as I listened and understood. You see, it was her 
brother who was dearest of all on earth to her, and 
she was half wild because if he had not herself to 
feed and warm, he might pay the model and compete 
for the Prize. I can see the poor innocent now — 
down at my knees, her tears shaking her from head 
to feet — and it was all so true, so pitifully true — 
and I knew it was true, and she knew that I knew also. 

“ But still I tried to comfort her, and it was while 
I had my arms about her and her face was looking 
up from my bosom that she went on and told me what 
she was thinking of. She said that the idea had 
come to her after prayer, so she was sure that it was 
one of the sending of Sainte Helene, and then she 
made me understand that she wished herself to sit to 
her brother as a model. Monsieur can guess my sur- 
prise — and it was not until she reminded me of 
Julien’s plan for the picture that I saw how possible 
it was. It was a daring plan; monsieur recollects 
the figure lying enwrapped like a flower, with its face 
and hands hidden by the drooping roses. Renaud 
had his doubts at first when Julien used to talk of it 
— but la! time has shown forth many things since 
then. 

“ I may say with my hand on my heart that to me 
the idea appeared beautiful from the beginning, and 
it was as if it had been made to fit Lotte’s desire, for 
anything more flower-like than her form could not be 


94 AS TOLD BY RENAUD’S WIFE 


imagined. And so I told her frankly, and when she 
told me that she wanted me to go myself to Yarel and 
tell him that one, jeune , belle , toute-inconnue, would 
pose for him, if she might rest with her face veiled 
and never be called upon to speak, I embraced the 
poor child and promised her — and then we wept 
freely together. 

46 1 told Renaud that night and he also was deeply 
moved. His father was somewhat better, and he had 
been much cast down — seeing plainly that our mar- 
riage must be long put off — but he put his own 
trouble aside and spoke so kindly — so comfortingly 
to me. Mon Dieu , but he is an angel — Renaud ! .The 
night that our fourth child had the croup — ah, I 
wish monsieur might have noted Renaud that night! 
But, thank God, it is not of the croup that I must 
speak now. 

44 And so I was to take the good news to the pauvre 
gargon , and the very next afternoon, about five, I 
saw, as I was returning from carrying six finished 
shirts, the reflection of Julien’s light against the 
window-pane. I knew that he must be alone there 
because Lotte never reached home until very near 
seven, and so I felt that here was my most excellent 
chance, and after I had mounted the stairs, I went 
straight to his door and rapped. He cried to me 
4 Come in,’ and when I obeyed and he saw who it was, 
he looked as pleased as if he had known my errand 
beforehand. I had never seen him so pleased before, 
and I may truly remark that I have never seen him 
so pleased since. Pleased since! Ah, God’s mercy, 
if I have ever seen him more than smile since ! He — 
but the story will explain ! 


AS TOLD BY RENAUD’S WIFE 95 

“ Well, and so he made me sit on the chair and he 
sat on the table and laughed and talked — poor fel- 
low — and it was several minutes before I remem- 
bered of what I had come to speak, for he was really 
quite gay — that is, always gay for Yarel, you com- 
prehend. And then, when the pause came, and I 
might speak, will monsieur believe that I hardly knew 
how to word the matter? I am older now, but mon- 
sieur can understand that it really was quite a deli- 
cate affair for me, a young girl (and I was different 
then from what I am now — oh, very different; 
Renaud used to say — but we’ll leave that). At any 
rate, I felt myself blushing and stammering most 
awkwardly, and it was only after Julien had helped 
me out with an infinity of patience that I made the 
whole clear to his mind. 

44 Monsieur, I may in absolute confession state 
that I have never seen anyone so deeply affected. He 
became very pale. He rose and walked up and down 
for some time. I almost began to fear he was dis- 
pleased at the condition. But at last he came beside 
the table, and, in a voice that trembled, he said to 
me, 4 Marguerite, I can never forget this hour. Say 
to the angel who hath sent thee that I will never 
seek to know her, nor to speak to her; that I will 
never approach her or touch her, but that to the last 
day of my life I shall pray for her night and morn- 
ing, and in every church past which my steps shall 
lead me.’ 

44 1 was much touched myself. I wept. Later we 
spoke calmly and seriously, and I arranged with him 
that she should come on Saturdays and Sundays. I 
hope that I shall not appear selfish if I say that this 


96 AS TOLD BY RENAUD’S WIFE 

arrangement was a very convenient thing for Renaud 
and me, for it gave us a liberty together which we 
had never had before, and monsieur can well believe 
that in spite of that winter’s cold we enjoyed our 
walks and our plans as to the future. You see, our 
affairs had taken a turn for the better — Renaud’s 
father receiving a fresh shock in March — and we 
felt we might dare to look in windows and contem- 
plate pots and spoons, and hope — but, oh, del , how 
my tongue runs! 

“ So Varel began his picture. Poor Lotte had 
bound her head up so tightly that she could hardly 
breathe, and the long, gauze draperies covered her 
straw-worn hands (for Julien would have recognized 
her hands as quick as her face — of such attention 
are artists) as closely as they sheathed her beautiful 
figure. And thus she posed hour after hour in the 
cold chill of that garret. Her brother worked as he 
had never worked before. He painted as if possessed 
by a god. She told me that he was a new being to 
her, he whistled so merrily, sang little love-songs, but 
never, never addressed her one word. You see, he 
thought that Lotte was away with Renaud and me, 
and his mind was free of all care and floated along 
in the paradise of his wish fulfilled. He had posed 
her as a flower, dew-laden and swept about by the 
morning mist, and she lay stretched out upon the 
green, a rose — a rose enwrapped in the rose of its 
own color. Monsieur can think what she must have 
been when the picture was what it was. No wonder 
Varel worked as one inspired ! 

“ Of course, with only two sittings a week it took 
time. An artist should have his model oftener. I 


AS TOLD BY RENAUD’S WIFE 97 

remember when Renaud was going to paint his 
‘ Goose of the Golden Egg ’ he expressly stipulated 
that he was to have the goose four mornings a week. 
And even with that, the picture never — but I have 
taken a vow never to refer to the 4 Goose with the 
Golden Egg.’ If, — if monsieur has ever occasion 
to visit the loft over the wagon-house he may see for 
himself. 

44 But at last the painting approached its end. 
Lotte had grown very pale, but not even to me would 
she admit that she felt ill. I said to Renaud that I 
sadly feared Yarel was mixing his paints with blood, 
but he said that the Spring would bring back her 
color. He is always so hopeful — le Renaud! I 
have never seen such hope. Five sons before a daugh- 
ter and never one breath of despair from that noble 
heart, and now for seven seasons has he not attempted 
to raise — but oh, Diew , my tongue ! my tongue ! 

44 Then came the day when it went off to the com- 
petition, and the night after Lotte laid herself down 
upon her bed. If she was ill ! — but you should have 
seen her. She was white as wax and weak as a babe. 

44 She lay there — ah, the poor one — and I nursed 
her every minute that I was not absolutely forth with 
my shirts. And Julien nursed her, too, he on one 
side of the bed, I on the other, hour after hour. How 
his eyes sought mine continually, imploring me to 
save her! Shall I ever forget his eyes as they were 
then before they changed? They cried — they 
burned. The sweet, poor, dear fellow! He was 
never stout and well-built like Renaud, but he had 
charms. One must admit that he had charms. I used 
sometimes to think — but no — no, never ! 


98 AS TOLD BY RENAUD’S WIFE 

“ It was not for long, as you may imagine. She 
faded pitifully fast. Soon she faded altogether. He 
wept in my arms. He clung to me. He even kissed 
me — it was a comfort that I could not deny him. 
I dressed her myself, and truly she was most beauti- 
ful. I had to support him as he looked upon her for 
the last time. Renaud went with him to bury her. 
I wept all the time while they were gone. When they 
came back the letter was there. 

“ He only glanced at the envelope, and then he 
fled to his own room. Renaud took me into his arms 
to soothe me. I was much agitated; monsieur can 
understand how deep an interest we felt. Never 
shall I forget those moments as we waited — and 
then, while we were waiting, the telegram regarding 
Renaud’s father came. Such a mingling of joy and 
sorrow never was ! I could only smile for one while 
I wiped my tears for the other. Life is like that, 
monsieur — the same rain that makes the harvest, 
kills the tender young turkeys. Eh bien, Renaud’s 
duty called him to his father at once, of course, and 
I remained alone divided between sad and sweet 
thoughts. Losing a parent is always a heavy grief, 
naturally, but inheriting — ah, c'est quelqu 9 chose ! 

“ It was then that poor Julien came in to tell me 
that he had taken the prize. He knelt down at my 
feet and laid his head against my knee and told me. 
6 You should know first, Marguerite,’ he whispered. 
* Who have I now but you P Ah, if only Lotte — 9 
his voice broke there and I was overcome, too. 

“ * La pauvre chere Lotte ! * I cried, when I could 
speak at last, 4 could she but know ! — for she gave 
her life for this ! 9 


AS TOLD BY RENAUD’S WIFE 99 


44 4 Her life? 9 he questioned, lifting up his head 
and fixing his eyes on mine. And it seemed only jus- 
tice then to reveal the secret to him. 

“ Ah, monsieur, what emotion ! He started to his 
feet and for a few minutes there was an air about 
him of frozen madness. I found myself wholly un- 
able to bear it. I went to him ; I put my arms about 
him; I said to him, 4 Julien, it is terrible. Yes, it is 
very terrible. But such was her will ; she would have 
it so. She was weak and ailing, life meant little to 
her. She was always a thing of pain — now she is 
free. God’s will be ours.’ But he only stood there, 
staring blind and blank at the floor. 

44 Then I saw that I must rouse him, and a sudden 
inspiration seized me. I knew that Renaud loved 
him and sorrowed for him even as I did myself, and 
I knew that anything that we could offer we would 
offer out of full hearts. So I took his hands in mine 
and pressing them hard I said, 4 Tiens , Julien, look 
at me. While we are young there is always something 
left. Listen to me.’ He raised his big, sad eyes to 
mine and I saw a sudden gladness flashing in their 
depths. I clasped his hands yet more warmly then 
— and I said : 

44 4 Julien, Renaud and I are to be married shortly. 
Leave Paris and its stones of hearts and feet and 
come and live with us in the sweet breath and bloom 
of the country. We will take you to our hearts as 
a brother. It shall be home to you as long as you 
will. Only come.’ 

“ Oh, monsieur, that was a moment ! 

44 On my death-bed I shall hear again the scream 
he gave. It was the real madness that came to him 


100 AS TOLD BY RENAUD’S WIFE 


in that instant. Lack of food and fire, work and 
other work, anxiety, misery, his sister’s death — the 
Prize — it all came over him at once ! 

“ He struck his hands to his head and rushed 
from me, and neither Renaud nor I saw him again 
for years. . . . 

“ It was when we decided to name the sixth boy 
Julien that Renaud finally wrote him a letter. He 
hesitated somewhat because he was become 4 Yarel, 
tout-court,' in the years between, but I urged the 
letter and it went. Yarel sent the little one a silver 
bowl and in the Midsummer he came to see us. Of 
course, we were deeply honored, but we were still 
more shocked. It was ten years ago, and yet I may 
assure monsieur that he was as gray and bent and 
broken then as now. It was frightful to see! And 
other things followed. Monsieur has doubtless heard 
it rumored that the mind of the great man — ? Ter- 
rible, is it not ? — but between you and me, Renaud 
and I cannot doubt it. My little Marguerite was 
three years old that summer, and the night after he 
came, he woke us all, crying her name in his sleep. 
I was sadly alarmed, thinking it was a summons 
from above for the dear child; monsieur knows how 
such things have been. But the next night it was 
worse yet, and then Renaud moved him out into the 
maisonette, telling him that the children would not 
wake him up out there at night. Renaud has such 
delicacy — he never hinted to him that then he would 
not wake us up either. He liked the maisonette — 
le pauvre Varel. (I trust monsieur will pardon me; 
I always forget how great a man he is and feel for 
him a pity tout simple . ) And he drew things all over 


AS TOLD BY RENAUD’S WIFE 101 


the walls and ever since then we have kept it for him 
alone. He comes quite frequently and spends a few 
days there when wearied of Paris. It is the highest 
possible honor for us, although I may frankly say 
that occasionally I find the way he looks at me to be 
somewhat ennuyante. Monsieur can understand that 
the mistress of this place and the mother of eight 
children must often find herself as to coiffure and 
dress quite otherwise than she would wish to be in 
the eyes of an artist. But I never say a word. If 
it gives the poor man a little joy to stare at one who 
recalls to him his sister and his youth he is gladly 
welcome to stare. Renaud says that he stares be- 
cause I am yet beautiful and he an artist. But oh, 
la! that Renaud — he is an idiot always about his 
wife, and truly she 

“But I hope that I have not bored monsieur?” 
She stopped short and looked earnestly into my face. 

I leaned my elbows on the window-seat and shook 
my head. 

“ Bored ? No, truly ! ” 













SMOKE, OR EIRE? 

M Y dearest Sue: 

I was simply paralyzed by your letter of 
congratulations ! I never heard anything so crazy 
in all my life ! The mere idea of my marrying again 
is too preposterous for words. I would not have 
known what man you referred to if you had not men- 
tioned the name! Really, I wouldn’t! 

I am not engaged. Of course I wouldn’t admit it 
if I was, but I really am not. I won’t say that I 
wouldn’t marry him under any circumstances, be- 
cause I think any woman is very foolish to say that 
of any man in these days when, whoever you marry, 
you are so liable to marry others later ; but I haven’t 
told him that I’d marry him anyway, and I would tell 
you whether he had asked me or not if I could see 
you, but I hate putting personalities in letters. 
There is always the chance of one or the other be- 
coming celebrated and the letters being printed later 
on, you know. 

Of course I did meet him first at that house-party, 
and of course we were together most of the time. I 
thought that, as we were perfect strangers, we could 
be together without starting talk, but I found that 
it is not wise to be constantly with even a perfect 
stranger, because if you keep on being constantly 
with a man it starts talk right off, and the more 


104 


SMOKE, OR FIRE? 

constantly you are with a man the less either of you 
cares to have it talked of. You know how I hate to 
be talked about anyhow, and how hard I try to avoid 
it. I have given up so many things on account of it 
— red parasols and traveling with a monkey, and 
other equally innocent pleasures — and it does seem 
to me as if I might have been allowed this one man ; 
he really is such a dear, Sue — just wait until I in- 
troduce you — and so good-looking. 

Now, as to these dreadful stories you have heard, 
I shall take them in order and answer all of them 
completely. In the first place, it’s quite true about 
the motor ride — that is, the most of it is true. Of 
course I was frightened and I wasn't expecting the 
lightning flash. And neither was he. We had 
stopped under the tree to wait for the rain to be 
over. It was one of those sultry storms and I was 
so smothered that I was absolutely forced to put my 
veil up. I was really nearly smothered, Sue; you 
know how hot those veils and storms are, and I was 
fearfully frightened, and he was no more expecting 
the flash than I was. It was all horribly unfortu- 
nate, and we never have been able to find out who 
started that story. I think that whoever did it will 
be murdered if he ever lets it be known who he is. 
It was so mean to tell, anyway, because it must have 
been so perfectly evident that the flash of lightning 
was utterly unexpected by both of us. 

Then there is the story about my going and 
spending the evening with him, and I’m sincerely 
glad that you’ve heard it and asked me about it, for 
although I know that you know me too well to believe 
that I would do such a thing, still I want to tell you 


105 


SMOKE, OR FIRE? 

just what started that. You see, I went to stay with 
Carrie, utterly forgetting that he was staying with 
Dr. Kent. After I was settled I found that Carrie’s 
husband doesn’t allow Dr. Kent to enter the house, 
for no better reason than that he didn't marry 
Carrie. So mean of him, for Dr. Kent is a dear. 
But of course it left me in a pretty mess, for you 
couldn’t ask one man without the other. I was quite 
miserable about it, for you know how fond I’ve al- 
ways been of Dr. Kent, and so one evening I sud- 
denly had the craziest idea jump into my head. I 
was returning from the Croy dells’ dinner rather 
early so as to pick Carrie up at a Symphony Con- 
cert, and I saw a light in the Dale house (you know 
Dr. Kent had it for the winter), and I entirely for- 
got that it was the night of the big medical banquet. 

I thought that it would be such fun to surprise 
them both for five minutes, and I had unhooked the 
tube on the spur of the minute and told the coach- 
man to stop the carriage there. It wasn’t until 
after it was stopped and I was out and upon the 
steps that it occurred to me that the situation Was 
a bit awkward. You know that I never get myself 
into a box, so of course I had to think fast. 

I took my handkerchief and applied it to my eye 
as if I had met with some accident, and that made 
it quite right to ask for Dr. Kent. The horrid part 
was that of course Dr. Kent was out, but fortunately 
Clarence was in the study just off the hall and heard 
my voice and hurried to the door. He insisted upon 
my coming in, and so I went in and we did have an 
adorable time. I never knew that the Dales had 
such a charming house. If they want to rent it next 


106 


SMOKE, OR FIRE? 

winter I think that we — I mean Dr. Kent — may 
take it again. 

But I really didn’t stay long, Sue, honestly I 
didn’t; and I hadn’t seen him for four days, you 
know, and of course I knew and he knew that it was 
our one chance while I was at Carrie’s. I will con- 
fess that I was rather late in getting her, and her 
husband was awfully snappish over it — do you 
know, I didn’t like him a bit after that — I always 
have wished that she had married Dr. Kent ever since. 
Fancy how heavenly it would have been ! But that’s 
the whole truth about the story of my going to see 
him, and you can see how false it is from start to 
finish. I should like to see myself going to any man, 
indeed. 

But oh, Sue, we did have such fun. I had on my 
new cream lace gown and he absolutely had on slip- 
pers — it was too cozy and homelike for words. 
Only we both would have a big, sleepy-hollow chair 
in that room if we were furnishing it. Such horrid, 
creaky, squeaky chairs you never saw, my dear; I 
was in mortal fear of breaking them. If I ever have 
a place of my own again I mean to have good solid 
furniture — furniture that you can take some com- 
fort in. 

Now to the next things that have been told you. I 
almost think that it is beneath me to reply to them 
at all. To think of people having the face to say 
that we are always together and that only to look at 
us anyone would know that it was true! It really 
seems to me, Sue, that you might have spared your- 
self the trouble of repeating accusations like that , 
for they show that they must be lies, and I’m sure I 


107 


SMOKE, OR FIRE? 

cannot see who could have started them unless it is 
Central or farmers who live away off in unfrequented 
places. I have made up my mind to one thing — 
and Clarence has made up his, too — and that is 
that we shall never, so long as we live, look at people 
we meet in the country, or remark on what anyone 
does or says. And if any man or woman is desper- 
ate, he or she, as the case may be, can come to our 
house and use the sleepy-hollow chair any time and 
for as long a time as he or she, as the case may be, 
chooses, and we shall never say a word, then or ever ! 

And now as to the tale about Paris, which is really 
apparently the worst of all to hush up. We are 
denying it right and left, but so many people know 
us that it seems well-nigh impossible to crush it out. I 
do assure you that I was positively in rags, my dear, 
in ragSy and I made up my mind all of a sudden one 
day that as long as I hadn’t a thing fit to wear I 
might as well run over to Aubregiac and get a new 
outfit right through. 

I never dally after I decide — as you know, dear 
— so I took my passage the very next morning and 
I sailed on the eighth. No one could have been more 
surprised than we were at meeting one another on 
the steamer. It was the greatest coincidence that I 
ever knew of, for he hadn’t an idea that I was going. 
The voyage would have been perfect, only that the 
whole Lake family were on the boat, and I always 
shall believe that it was Mrs. Lake who started the 
story of our being engaged. It was natural that, 
knowing each other as well as we did, we should 
have been together, and we both were crazy over the 
moon nights (it was really very cloudy all the voy- 


108 


SMOKE, OR FIRE? 

age, but we kept on hoping), so we were together 
more or less, and I haven’t the faintest intention of 
denying that ; but as to what Mrs. Lake said — 
well, all I can say is that I shall never really like any 
of them again. They stayed up until the most un- 
godly hours, Sue, and walked the whole time, and 
wherever it was quiet and a little bit out of the wind 
there Mrs. Lake would post herself until I wanted to 
cry. You know how few quiet places out of the wind 
there are, and then to have an old woman stand in 
one of them till after midnight ! Nevertheless, of 
course it didn’t matter as it would have mattered 
had we been engaged. I should think that anyone 
could see that, and I want to ask you, Sue, if we had 
been engaged would we ever have gone over on the 
same steamer? Wouldn’t we have gone on separate 
steamers to keep people from saying that we were 
engaged — if for nothing else? Isn’t it all too ab- 
surd on the very face of it? I declare, these stories 
fairly madden me because anyone with a grain of 
common sense would see at a glance what lies they 
must be. 

We were at different hotels in Paris, and I had 
Madame Mas j on with me, too, so everything was all 
correct, and I denied myself so much pleasure that 
it certainly does seem to me too cruel of people to 
talk so. We came back on different steamers, nat- 
urally, and then, besides, the dressmaker disap- 
pointed me and my frocks were not done, but no one 
pays any attention to that fact. People who desire 
to gossip seem to have no logic. Absolutely, if I had 
known how they were going to talk anyway, I do 
believe that I would have returned on the same 


109 


SMOKE, OR FIRE? 

steamer. It will exasperate me as long as 1 live to 
think that I lost a whole week with him that I might 
have had. 

I do wish that you could see my new things, dear 
— they are exquisite ; much prettier than my trous- 
seau the other time. I have hats and shoes to match 
every frock this time. And oh, my dear, my ring! 
I forgot to tell you about my ring ; and I must tell 
you, for people are talking of that , too. It’s some 
old family stones that I had reset in Paris. It is 
simply gorgeous. You never saw such a ring. I 
have a bracelet besides and I am going to have a 
necklace. They are all too lovely for words. 

Indeed, dear Sue, if it wasn’t for this horrid, con- 
founded gossip I should be quite the happiest woman 
alive. I am very well and we never had such weather. 
To be sure, it does rain pretty steadily, but when 
people come to tea and it keeps on raining it gives 
such a good excuse for their staying to dinner, and 
I am most grateful that I am not visiting Carrie now. 
I am at Maude Lisle’s, and she wants me to ask you 
if you can’t come and spend October with her. I 
am going to be here most of the month and I 
shouldn’t wonder if it was rather gay toward the 
middle. Maude is going to give some dinners and 
things and Clarence has a new motor, and I know 
you would like to meet him even if I am not going 
to marry him, as kind (?) friends informed you. 

I don’t want you to think from this letter that I 
am a bit vexed with you for having believed idle 
reports so quickly, for I am not. On the contrary 
I am sincerely glad that you wrote me as you did 
and gave me a chance to explain fully, for I think 


110 SMOKE, OR FIRE? 

frankness is so necessary among friends, and if I 
were really engaged you would naturally expect to 
be one of the first to be told. But Clarence says that 
I cannot keep anything to myself, and we have such 
a big bet up about that, that wild horses could not 
drag it out of me until after the first of the month. 
That is partly why these stories annoy me so ter- 
ribly, and why I take so much time and pains in 
denying them. I would not have it get about for 
any money. People would fit the flash of lightning 
right in with that journey to Paris and my new 
things and this ring, and there would be no con- 
vincing them that it wasn’t so. The more we denied 
it the more ridiculous we should appear, and you 
know how much I hate to appear ridiculous. I have 
always said that I would never marry a second time, 
and 1 never shall. And you know, Sue dear, that 
if I were really engaged to marry anyone I should 
most certainly tell you at once ; so that alone proves 
the falseness of the whole story. 

Now you’ll come in October, won’t you? Maude 
wants you to promise. I shall be leaving on the 
eighteenth or nineteenth — the date isn’t positively 
set — and she says that she will be too horribly 
lonely if there isn’t someone with her to talk over 
what will be happening then. You know how fond 
Maude always is, first of things, and then of talking 
them over, and she is almost as happy as I am these 
days. It was she who introduced me to Clarence at 
the house-party, so it seems especially fitting that I 
should be with her now, you know. The dear thing, 
she has absolutely her drawing-rooms all done over 
— isn’t that almost touching? Do write that you 


Ill 


SMOKE, OR FIRE? 

will be sure to come. I want you to meet Clarence, 
too — he is so handsome — and do you know he has 
taken the Dale house for five years? I didn’t mean 
to tell you, but I’m sure that I don’t see why I 
shouldn’t. Taking the Dale house is no crime, heaven 
knows. 

And now, Sue dear, in conclusion, I want to beg 
you if you hear any more stories about me to deny 
them at once. Say that you are positive that there 
is not one word of truth in any of them. I don’t 
suppose you can deny the lightning flash because 
somebody must have surely seen us to have started 
it at all, and the trip to Paris is true, too, and my 
clothes are true, of course; but deny all the rest and 
fix up what you can’t deny as well as you can, for 
I do detest being talked about, and then, too, I am 
wild to win that bet from Clarence. 

And be sure to write favorably of October. I 
want you to come j ust as soon as you can — I have 
such a lot to tell you and I promise you that it’s 
interesting. Maude says that we will have a love of 
a time when Clarence isn’t here, and when he is here 
you and she can look all over my things together. I 
have such adorable things, stripes of lace and ribbon 
alternate, and hand-embroidered silk petticoats, and 
so on. 

Good-bye, dear ; au revoir. 

As ever, yours affectionately, 

Nan. 

P. S. If anyone says the stones in my ring came 
from my grandmother, just let it go. I did say that 
they were from my grandmother at first. Oh, Sue, I 


112 


SMOKE, OR FIRE? 

go half mad being tripped up on things I’ve said 
and completely forgotten! You see, I had no idea 
in the beginning that people were such awful liars . 

But now I really think very few know what truth 
means. 


WHEN JANET COMES 
MARCHING HOME 


A Tragedy of Best Intentions 

N OW this is the tale of Mr. and Mrs. Tibbetts 
and their only daughter Janet, than whom 
they loved nothing better, and who returned their 
affection with her whole heart. It is an uninterest- 
ing tale, colorless, and having a moral, and I warn 
the frivolous reader to pass it by at once, since it 
is constructed of such material as can only entertain 
those who have either been parents or children. 

Mr. and Mrs. Tibbetts were quiet, respectable, 
pleasant, well-to-do people, in a small village of the 
same sort. They were simple of desire and habit and 
so were their surroundings. They were prudent, 
they were placid, they were happy; so was their 
life — so were their neighbors. 

Mr. and Mrs. Tibbetts had always loved one an- 
other. They had not married hastily, but had waited 
until Mr. Tibbetts was thirty-nine and Mrs. Tibbetts 
(that was then to be) was thirty-five, so that their 
house might be bought and paid for and furnished in 
advance. It was not in the nature of either to like 
to take risks or run into debt — so they didn’t do 
it. When there was no risk, nor any chance of debt, 
they went on and married and settled down and Janet 


114 WHEN JANET COMES HOME 

came in due time to bless their union. Janet was 
not quite what a physiognomist or physiologist or 
psychologist might have expected of Mr. and Mrs. 
Tibbetts, but, once born, there is no helping a baby, 
and they started in to raise her with a certain unde- 
fined fear and well-defined awe. 

“ This baby ought to have regular habits,” Mrs. 
Tibbetts (who had very regular habits) said to Mr. 
Tibbetts (who had turned over on his other side at 
five, risen at six, and breakfasted at six-thirty every 
morning for twenty-seven years). 

“ Yes,” said Mr. Tibbetts dubiously. 

But Janet had no regular habits. 

Instead, she carved out her own way through 
teeth and measles with an energy that was remark- 
able and victorious. 

Before she was three years old she was running 
the family ; at five she was running the house ; when 
she had arrived at the mature age of twelve years 
her parents were merely existing at a respectful dis- 
tance in her wake. 

At sixteen Janet went away to somewhere else to 
school and took a scholarship which permitted her 
to go still farther away and become a collegiate 
graduate. When she came home summers she cleaned 
the house, cooked new ways, and replanted the flower 
garden. She knew so much that her mother hesitated 
to singe a chicken in her presence and her father felt 
apologetic over reading the newspaper in the same 
room where she might happen to be sitting. When 
she returned to college there was a perceptible 
change in the atmosphere — neither Mr. nor Mrs. 
Tibbetts said that it was a pleasant change, but they 


WHEN JANET COMES HOME 115 

singed chickens and read newspapers with a quiet 
appreciation that was eloquent in itself. 

Janet graduated with honor and honors. She 
came home for a month, and then went to visit her 
room-mate, Mary Kew. At Mary Kew’s she met a 
young man with prospects. He was promoted the 
day after they were introduced, and again three 
weeks later. The evening after his second promo- 
tion he and Janet became engaged, and then she went 
home to get her things ready to be married. Before 
her things were ready some one dropped dead of 
heart disease, and the young man was promoted 
again. 

Janet was married. There was something very 
serene, stern, and prompt about the wedding. Mary 
Kew and another girl came for it, and Mr. and Mrs. 
Tibbetts were held up to their respect and admira- 
tion by the superior force of Janet’s own attitude 
toward them. They left on the same train with the 
bridal couple, and Mrs. Tibbetts looked around her 
house and tried to weep with desolation — but 
couldn’t. 

“ I hope she’ll be happy ! ” she said to Mr. Tib- 
betts. 

“ I hope he’ll be happy, too,” said Mr. Tibbetts, 
without the least intention toward innuendo or sar- 
casm. 

Janet had gone to live in a city five hours’ train- 
ride from home. It wouldn’t have been five hours 
except that only one half-hour was traversed at 
express time, and the other four and a half had 
to be of that despairing concomitant known as 
M local.” It could not be expected that she should 


116 WHEN JANET COMES HOME 


come home often, but she begged her parents to 
spend Christmas with her. Her husband was pro- 
moted again just before Christmas, but Mr. and 
Mrs. Tibbetts did not go to visit him — they were 
quietly happy at home, and they left Janet to be 
rampantly happy on her own hook. There was no 
feeling of any description — only that every one 
did just as he and she pleased. 

Every one did just as he and she pleased, and the 
years slipped happily by, one, two, and three. 

Then Janet suddenly came to her senses and real- 
ized that she was neglecting her parents. The idea 
had never occurred to her before, but having oc- 
curred to her, she acted on it at once and went home 
by that afternoon’s train. 

Mr. and Mrs. Tibbetts were about sixty now, and 
their grape vines and apple trees were all of a pros- 
perous and “ bearing ” size, and they were each 
fairly stout and very especially addicted to routine 
living. 

Janet came walking in just after the last supper- 
dish was washed and put on the shelf. Mrs. Tib- 
betts was just hanging Mr. Tibbetts’s cup up on its 
hook when she heard her daughter’s voice. Of course, 
she was delighted — her husband was delighted, too. 
Janet was twenty-five, with a clear complexion, 
brown eyes, and a smooth high pompadour of all her 
own hair. She wore a coat of black Persian lamb 
and a broadcloth skirt, her chin was held high (her 
husband had been promoted again within the past 
week), and she swept everything at a glance and 
made up her mind what was to be done. 

She only stayed a day, and she did not take her 


WHEN JANET COMES HOME 117 

parents into her confidence because pleasant sur- 
prises are always agreeable, but the third morning 
after her return to town four men arrived by the 
early train, and Mr. Tibbetts, going to the door, 
discovered that his house was to be repapered from 
roof to floor in two days, and that by the order of 
Janet, who had selected the paper for every room 
with her own sweet eyes and kind heart. 

There was nothing to be done but submit, move 
out the furniture, and cook for the workmen. They 
finished on the second night and Mr. and Mrs. Tib- 
betts sat on two kitchen chairs amid their sheet-cov- 
ered belongings, and looked at one another while they 
gasped for breath. 

“ Well, it was certainly kind of Janet,” the father 
said at last, and the mother said “ Yes,” feebly 
enough. 

They wrote a joint letter of thanks and learned 
slowly to assimilate their new aspect. 

Then the next summer Janet came again, took 
another look around, and left them quaking. 

Three days later carpenters appeared and swept 
away the dear old porch and the handy little wood- 
shed. They ran four Doric columns up to the garret 
in front, smashed in the parlor wall, put a bull’s- 
eye glass window just where the long mirror hung, 
and dug a cellar under the kitchen to take the place 
of the demolished addition in the rear. 

Mr. and Mrs. Tibbetts looked on, big-eyed. 
Neither said one word. The Doric pillars affected 
them much as Janet herself did, and neither liked 
the passing of the wood-shed, but they restrained 
both feelings and speech and swept up the shavings 
with a self-control that was monumental. 


118 WHEN JANET COMES HOME 

When the carpenters went Mr. Tibbetts said : 
“ There ain’t much use twinin’ the grapevines back 
over those pillars, they won’t bear again during our 
lives.” 

Mrs. Tibbetts flicked a tear out of her eye. 

“ No,” she assented meekly. 

That evening they wrote to Janet and told her 
how nice the house looked and then they went out in 
front and looked at it, and sighed, and went in again. 

“ I wonder when she’ll come next,” Mr. Tibbetts 
said, as he took off his boots to go to bed a half-hour 
after. His wife made no reply. There was a choke 
in her throat, she had always been so fond of her 
window with its frame of tendrils and gently tapping 
leaves from the departed vines. 

When Janet came the next summer she was jubi- 
lant. Her husband had just made a million. She 
wanted her parents to come to the city and live in 
her flat while she went abroad. Afterward they could 
go abroad while she built a granite palace with dia- 
monds of white marble set in and stone urns on the 
cornice. But Mr. and Mrs. Tibbetts didn’t want to 
go to town and live in a flat. 

“ We’re so well fixed,” Mrs. Tibbetts said, and her 
tone was imploring, for Janet’s eyes were kiting here 
and there in a way that made her and her husband 
fairly shake in their shoes. 

“ We couldn’t be better fixed,” Mr. Tibbetts said, 
attempting to throw all the mighty strength of com- 
plete conviction into his words. 

But Janet was not to be foiled in her duty, and 
while she was abroad a contractor came with a force, 
cut down the best apple tree, hoisted a water-tank 


WHEN JANET COMES HOME 119 

up on four stilts in its place, took up every floor in 
the house, installed various washbowls in little fa- 
vorite closets, put a bathtub in the linen-room, and 
went away in September, leaving desolation in his 
wake. 

Mrs. Tibbetts sat down and cried. She had stood 
in one basin and taken her bath out of another for 
almost fifty-five years, and she felt terribly over the 
change. Mr. Tibbetts didn’t like it either. The 
first time that he attempted the new tub he handled 
the wrong handle and deluged himself out of a hole 
in the ceiling which he had supposed to be put there 
for purposes of ventilation. 

“ I don’t know how we’re ever going to stand it,” 
he said to his wife while she was helping him out of 
his dripping apparel. 

“ This coat ’ll never do again,” said Mrs. Tib- 
betts. 

“ And to think we’ve got to write that letter say- 
ing how kind she is,” said the father, who had never 
come so far toward real temper in all his life before. 

Ki Sh-h-h,” said his wife. 

Then he held up his arms and leaned over, and she 
got his shirt off. 

“ Even my undershirt is soaked through,” he said 
bitterly. 

“ Sh-h-h,” said his wife. 

That evening they wrote the letter. 

In the winter that followed the new water system 
all froze up, and as the contractor had completely 
done away with the pump that never froze up, Ja- 
net’s parents had a hard time. As they worked with 
iron rods and salt and hot cloths Mr. Tibbetts said 


120 WHEN JANET COMES HOME 

wrathfully : 44 I s’pos* we’ll have electric lights next, 
an’ be left in the dark without a candle.” 

44 You mustn’t say that,” said Mrs. Tibbetts. 

44 I shall if I want to,” said Mr. Tibbetts. 

44 You’ll bu’st that pipe out at the joint if you 
bang at it like that,” said his wife. 

44 I’ll bu’st it if I want to,” said the husband, 44 I’ll 
bu’st myself if I don’t bu’st suthin’.” 

This was the nearest that Mr. Tibbetts had ever 
come to swearing and his wife felt cowed. She looked 
at him furtively. 

44 Darn it ! ” said Mr. Tibbetts. 

44 My dear — ” she began. 

44 Shut up ! ” 

It was the first harsh word in all their long life of 
love together. Mrs. Tibbetts burst into tears and 
climbed the cellar stairs to weep above. To this had 
Janet brought her parents. 

But she didn’t weep long, for the disjointed water- 
works had led to trouble in the linen-room — I mean, 
in the bathroom — and the dining-room ceiling was 
suffused with a large damp spot. To this also had 
Janet brought her parents. 

The next summer she came again. They greeted 
her with fear and trembling; there was no room for 
any other sentiment in their hearts now. 

But Janet was troubled herself this time. 

44 Do you know,” she said, 44 George has accepted 
the contract to build ten thousand miles of railroad 
and ninety-three towns along the line in Northern 
Kenibahakoogee, and he’ll be gone ten years, and I 
don’t see how I can * stay behind or how I can go 
and leave you, and I’m almost insane.” 


WHEN JANET COMES HOME 121 

She looked at them and they looked at one another ; 
neither knew where Kenibahakoogee was, but both 
knew that ten years was a long time. 

“ I think you ought to go with your husband,” 
said Mrs. Tibbetts. 

“ Yes, by all means,” said Mr. Tibbetts. 

“ But my duty to you two? ” said Janet. 

“ Never mind us,” said Mr. Tibbetts, “ don’t you 
give one thought to us.” 

“ No,” said Mrs. Tibbetts, “ we’re all right.” 

Her tone trembled in her anxiety to make it suffi- 
ciently impressive. 

44 But I’m all you’ve got,” said Janet. 

44 Never mind,” said Mr. Tibbetts, 44 we’ve got 
each other, too, you know. Now you go right along 
with George and never think of us.” 

44 No, don’t think of us,” said the mother, 44 there 
isn’t a thing that we need only to know that you’re 
happy.” 

Janet went. She went in a month’s time. The 
day after the steamer sailed Mr. Tibbetts drove in 
town and bought a pump and arranged to have it 
put back through the hole that they had kept cov- 
ered by a board and tripped over for eighteen 
months. The bathtub was disconnected and put in 
the loft, the shelves for linen were taken out of the 
loft and replaced against the wall; they had the 
village paper-hanger come up and rake off all the 
satiny panels with gilt molding that had driven them 
wild for two years, and Mrs. Tibbetts, with the joy 
of a bride, picked out a new paper with a sprig al- 
ternate with a geometrical figure for the parlor 
and a plain blue sprinkled with purple asters for 


m WHEN JANET COMES HOME 

the dining-room. After that they had the Doric 
pillars pulled down and the bull’s-eye window cut 
square. 

“ It looks kind of Christian again — don’t it ? ” 
said Mrs. Tibbetts, with real unfeigned satisfaction 
as they stood out in front on the first evening after 
the workmen finished, and contemplated their im- 
provements. 

“ That’s the evil of these higher educations,” said 
Mr. Tibbetts; “why, Ellen, if we’d never let Janet 
go away to school, she’d never have met a fellow like 
that man she’s got, she’d have married some one in 
the village and had a nice cottage and been content 
and let us do things for her, and we’d have had the 
old apple tree and the grapevines and never suf- 
fered nothin’ like these last five years.” His voice 
broke with feeling, and his wife pressed his hand 
hard. 

“ Nobody can have everything in this world,” she 
reminded him gently. 

He gulped down his feelings. 

“ I know, Ellen, I know ; but it seems like Fate 
come down awful heavy on you and me in the end. 
Still I don’t mean to repine.” 

“ No,” said his wife, “ you see, she meant to be 
kind.” 

“ Yes, I know, she meant to be kind. And we had 
nothin’ in the wide world to do but to sit still and 
bear it.” 

Then they went into their reantiquated house and 
went to bed. 

Peace reigned over, above, and all around. They 
had had the connection severed in the windmill, and 


WHEN JANET COMES HOME 123 


they knew that Janet was on the high seas. They 
drew long sighs as they slept. It was the first peace 
that they had known since Janet first came upon 
them. 

























THE 

TWELVE LITTLE BROILERS 

A Tale of the South 

I T was because Mr. Craig was a Northerner and 
didn’t understand. It was because he was a new- 
comer and had not yet learned. It was because he 
looked to the law and knew not that another and 
higher law was prevalent in that vicinity. 

And so he had Uncle Peter arrested for the theft 
of the twelve little broilers — and so Uncle Peter 
went to jail. The pity of it! — the sadness of it ! — 
but it is only the story of it which I set out to tell. 

Uncle Peter was a darky — a very old, white- 
haired, white-bearded darky, who had lived all his 
life upon the same land and served the same family 
well and faithfully. The land was the Fenway land 
and the family was the Fenway family, and the ties 
which bound Uncle Peter fast in his fealty were of 
a quality which no Emancipation Proclamation 
could affect in the slightest degree. Uncle Peter 
bowed his head and said “ mas’r ” just as humbly 
and reverently in 1900 as he had said it in 1850, 
and the stately old gentleman whom he thus ad- 
dressed was as great in his eyes and as worthy of 
admiration as ever. Uncle Peter had seen the war 
drain all the young blood out of the family and had 


126 THE TWELVE LITTLE BROILERS 

seen the great estate become a waste and then dwin- 
dle away; he had seen the effects of the war slowly 
but surely absorb even the shadows of the one-time 
glory; he had seen all the joy swept out of life, had 
seen the colonel surrender every last atom of luxury, 
had seen the colonel’s sister — Miss Nancy — become 
frail and tottering long before her years of age; 
he had seen the great Hall — called The Fens — 
reduced by fire to one wing, had seen the stables 
reduced to one mule, had seen the corps of twenty 
house servants, and the farm equipment of some 
seventy hands, reduced to himself. And through it 
all his faithfulness had gone unchanged — his cour- 
age had never wavered. On the contrary, the un- 
voiced tenor of his spirit’s song was a complete con- 
tentment that he had been the bearer — or sharer 
— of all the burdens, and now at seventy-five he still 
labored as patiently and willingly as ever from dawn 
to dark, and sometimes before and after. 

Uncle Peter’s labors were very arduous. When 
one is the sole survivor of nearly a hundred pair of 
hands, and when the traditions of the whole hundred 
are the very bone and sinew of one’s mentality, the 
result is apt to be productive of work. To be sure, 
the thousand acres had shrunk to five, and the Hall 
was only a remnant of what it had been, but Uncle 
Peter took no account of that. The small strip of 
land which ran from the highroad in front back to 
the little “ branch ” at the foot of the slope was still 
an estate in his eyes, and the poor old building whose 
scars were mantled by merciful ivy, and whose roof 
his own hands had patched within and without time 
and again, was as nobly “ the Hall ” to him now 


THE TWELVE LITTLE BROILERS 127 

as it had ever been in the days when the pile of 
stones in the potato patch fifty feet from the side 
wall had been part of the chimney piece in the gor- 
geous “ yellow damask drawing room.” The deli- 
cate old lady who wandered among the roses like 
some wraith of past beauty was as fair to his sight 
as she had been before the loss of her father, her 
lover, and two of her brothers in the same battle, 
had turned her hair white in a single week. And as 
for the colonel ! — well, when it came to an expres- 
sion of opinion as to the colonel, Uncle Peter could 
only lay his hand upon his heart and be silent — 
and whomever he was speaking to divined and re- 
spected. 

In the years that had passed since the war the 
evergreen hedge which had bordered the house and 
kitchen gardens had grown high and thick, and it 
may be divined that the life led behind its interwoven 
branches was one of proud and pitiful privation. 
Only Uncle Peter — and God — knew how pitiful. 
Often and often the meals which he served with 
stately precision were so slender as to be a mere 
farce in their serving, and one winter — one bitter 
winter — it had come to pass that every morning 
when he tapped at his mistress’ door with the pro- 
vision of morning fire, she had invariably refused 
it, saying that it was not needed. That had been the 
lowest bottom touched. The Fenway properties had 
been shrinking in ratio with the Fenway lands for 
years. The rise of mighty fortunes is always star- 
vation somewhere, and the many must each surrender 
a little — or all — to make a millionaire. There was 
a gigantic and admirably calculated railway deal — 


128 THE TWELVE LITTLE BROILERS 

and old Colonel Fenway gave up cigars henceforth. 
There was a Wall Street coup — and Miss Nancy 
refused to have a fire in her bedroom that winter. 
Uncle Peter was never present at the reading of the 
mail and would not have been able to connect the 
receivership of the “ 0. & B.” with an emptied purse 
if he had been, but he realized that winter that the 
moment had come for him to act, and as soon as 
the spring allowed of new enterprise he set about 
meeting the wolf at the door face to face and bat- 
tling with him to his finish. 

When Uncle Peter instituted the poultry yard 
he knew exactly what he was about. Perhaps it was 
more instinct than reasoning which guided his ac- 
tions, but whichever it was, he comprehended that 
under the conditions failure would be out of the ques- 
tion. He knew that all the people at the university 
cherished the deepest affection and respect for his 
beloved master and mistress. If he did not word it 
so within himself, he nevertheless understood per- 
fectly that there was not one among them who did 
not — out of the gracious sweetness of their cour- 
tesy — give to his “ family ” their old position with 
a sincerity which counted itself honored in the giv- 
ing. When — on the first Monday in each month 
— Miss Nancy was “ at home ” to her friends the 
old man — dressed in his best and officiating as but- 
ler — observed with pride the number and quality of 
those whom he announced. He knew that only the 
most inclement weather was ever allowed to interfere 
with that reception. Everyone who could possibly 
manage it never failed to take the four-mile drive 
once a month just so as to shake hands with the 


THE TWELVE LITTLE BROILERS 129 

“ dear old colonel ” and to sit for a few minutes 
beside Miss Nancy — Miss Nancy, superb in her 
grandmother’s real lace collar, her great-grand- 
mother’s pearl comb, and a silk brocade whose 
dams were too many to be noticeable. The at- 
mosphere of past splendor was too strong for any 
of its witnesses to ever be able to devise a way to 
somewhat ameliorate the present hardships. The 
wall of pride was as close as the wall of evergreens. 
Kindly impulses and friendly bits of help saw no 
possible way to offer themselves, and stood in the 
outer darkness of despair. 

All this Uncle Peter intuitively understood and 
took into consideration in the institution of his 
poultry yard. It cannot be said that he builded 
better than he knew, but he certainly built as well 
as he knew and — up to the episode of the twelve 
little broilers — the end certainly justified the means. 

Uncle Peter did not live under the roof of his 
master except in a figurative sense. He resided at 
the foot of the slope in a small cabin which had 
served as part of the laundry establishment in the 
good old times. The Federal troops had burned the 
outlying servants’ quarters, and the winters since 
had done away with those of the house people, but 
Uncle Peter’s home had been left intact, and he there 
lived happily with his seventh wife and his five 
youngest children. The domestic experiences of the 
old man had been varied ; one of his wives had gone 
north and written for him to join her — an invita- 
tion which he had never for one instant contemplated 
accepting; another was married to some one else in 
the vicinity. Not that any of it matters. 


130 THE TWELVE LITTLE BROILERS 

His cabin was pleasantly situated only a few yards 
from the shallow little stream. It was an ideal spot 
for the cultivation of anything, whether faithful de- 
votion or chickens. Uncle Peter did both, and 
Heaven blessed his efforts. 

Every Wednesday and Saturday anyone riding or 
driving along the pike at eight in the morning would 
have encountered the old man and his youngest son, 
Aurora Borealis, on their way with a choice array 
of the finest poultry snugly packed in the bottom of 
the wagon. Such turkeys! such capons! such fat 
young roosters ! And — be it added en passant — 
such prices ! — for Uncle Peter’s offerings were bar- 
gains and nothing else. No market could possibly 
enter into competition with him, and no market man 
ever attempted it. The university was admitted to 
be his and his alone ; no one there ever bought poul- 
try of anyone but Uncle Peter, and Uncle Peter 
never sold to anyone except the dwellers on “ the 
Lawn.” No difficulties ever arose, no one ever cav- 
illed, no one ever complained when Uncle Peter — 
generally most scrupulous — got his orders mixed 
and handed over the turkey which he had abstracted 
from one coop to the owner of some other chicken 
establishment. The unwritten code decreed that 
when one missed a pair of fowls those identical fowls 
should be delivered — all dressed — by Uncle Peter 
upon his next trip ; but sometimes — under stress 
of haste or other contingencies — interchange oc- 
curred which among a less kindly disposed commun- 
ity might have caused difficulties to arise. Not so 
here, however. The mistress merely summoned her 
cook and commanded her thus : “ ’Liza, you go all 


THE TWELVE LITTLE BROILERS 131 

along till you find where Uncle Peter left our four 
pullets, and tell whoever has them to give them to 
you and tell you what they paid for them.” The 
result was always fully satisfactory, and Uncle 
Peter was never allowed to suffer a moment’s uneasi- 
ness over his little mistakes. His poultry yard was 
a great success, and its revenue kept the Fenway 
family and their dependents. 

It was the third summer after the inauguration of 
the enterprise that the Craigs came down from 
Washington and leased the pretty little house which 
lay just between The Fens and the corporation 
limits. Mr. Craig had come from his own north- 
westerly point of the compass to do some business 
in the nation’s capital. When he had discovered that 
the business would keep him there for six months at 
least, he had written back for his family — the same 
consisting of a pretty, sweet-faced little wife and an 
adorable baby; and then when Washington had be- 
come unendurable (as Washington has a way of be- 
coming about the middle of May) a kind fate had 
led them to hear of, and then to rent, “ The Prim- 
roses.” The place was near enough for Mr. Craig 
to get to it for Saturdays and Sundays, and it was 
far enough away for Mrs. Craig and the baby to con- 
sider themselves in paradise. They had a man, and 
a maid, and a cow, and a garden. And then — as if 
there was to be no limit to country joys — they 
bought a hen and her brood of twelve downy chicks, 
the cunningest “ pure-breed ” yellow puff-balls that 
the Craig baby had ever toddled after. 

Mrs. Craig was as happy a disposition as ever 
absorbed sunbeams straight into its composition. 


132 THE TWELVE LITTLE BROILERS 

Her husband, her baby, her home, her cow, and her 
chickens all filled her, each with its own variety of 
individual bliss. The university ladies coming out 
to call upon the stranger were charmed and de- 
lighted at her enthusiasm. They made her cordially 
welcome to their circle, they praised her to one an- 
other; they did more, they praised her to Miss 
Nancy on the occasion of their next ceremonious 
presentation there, and Miss Nancy’s interest was 
awakened to such an extent that she expressed a de- 
sire to have Mrs. Craig call upon her. The lady to 
whom her wish was made manifest stopped on her 
way home to tell the recipient of the invitation what 
honor was in store for her. She told her who and 
what the Fenway family were, and how much a cour- 
tesy from them meant. She omitted no detail of the 
past grandeur in her recital, but — because she was 
Southern and understood — she slurred over all the 
reverse of the shield, saying not one word of the 
poverty and only one carefully casual word as to 
“ troubles.” The stranger within the gates listened 
with deep interest and came nearer understanding 
than might have been expected. She accepted Miss 
Nancy’s kindness in the most reverent manner, and 
passed the intervening weeks in trying to imagine 
how it would all be. Being herself thoroughly demo- 
cratic, her very heart was thrilled over the pros- 
pect of meeting the lord and lady of The Fens, and 
not even the disappearance of her hen and that 
hen’s progeny upon the eve of the long-awaited day 
had the power to dampen her pleasurable anticipa- 
tions. 

The next afternoon when — after a mile’s drive 


THE TWELVE LITTLE BROILERS 133 

with her friend beneath the hot sun — she found her- 
self in the avenue of gigantic elms, and then in the 
somber hallway of the old, old mansion, her modern 
— and Western — emotions rose so tumultuously as 
to almost choke her. She could not see the ancient 
man-servant who was bowing low as he drew back 
the drawing-room portieres — she hardly heard her 
own name as he announced it — but she never in all 
her after life will forget the wonder of that lofty, 
tattered, shabby room, with its splendid portraits 
and mirrors, its ragged cornice and shattered cut- 
glass chandelier, its miserable furniture, and — in 
the midst of all — the stately old gentleman advanc- 
ing to greet her — the delicate, cameo-cut features 
of the invalid who, from her chair by the screened 
fireplace, smiled a welcome with a smile that ignored 
its own surroundings completely. 

The day was long past when wine and cake and 
all species of sweets, home-made or “ sent down,” 
could be offered to the visitors in that room, but no 
one thought any more of that than of the other 
ghosts which slipped about among the throng. The 
conversation was pleasant, kindly in its tone, broad 
in its spirit ; each received the same welcoming 
looks, each left with the same cordial invitation to 
return. The choke in the little stranger’s throat 
grew all the time and swelled to tears when she 
stooped to make her adieus to the chatelaine in the 
big chair. 

“ Oh, I wish I might do something,” she cried, ir- 
relevantly, impulsively, to her friend when they were 
in the carriage and driving away from the great, 
pillared entrance. “ Can’t something be done? To 


134 THE TWELVE LITTLE BROILERS 

be royal like that and have to live like that ! I think 
it’s awful. Why can’t some help be given them ? ” 

The friend laid her hand gently over the inter- 
twined and trembling fingers. 

“ My dear child, no one can do anything,” she 
said ; “ that is the hardest problem of life — to min- 
ister where pride and privation go hand in hand.” 

Nothing was said about the poultry yard because 
a tacit interpretation of the doctrine of noblesse 
oblige always suppressed all mention of Uncle 
Peter’s scheme of industry. 

Mr. Craig — coming down that Saturday and 
bringing another man with him — was regaled with 
the whole tale. After his wife had relieved her sur- 
charged heart as to The Fens, she remembered the 
disaster of the hen and told him that, too. 

“Wasn’t it too bad?” she said. “They were 
growing so fast. In another week we should have 
had twelve nice little broilers.” 

He laughed and kissed her. And then he had the 
horse put in the surrey and they all went to drive. 

It was on their way home that the first act of the 
drama of Uncle Peter occurred. As they were skirt- 
ing the foot of the slope behind The Fens (without 
knowing that The Fens were anywhere in the vicin- 
ity) Mrs. Craig gave so sudden a cry that she woke 
the baby, who had fallen asleep in her arms. 

“ What’s the matter? ” her husband exclaimed, 
turning quickly. 

“ The chickens ! — our chickens ! ” she cried, 
pointing, and — following her indication — Mr. 
Craig looked and saw in the edge of the wood a hen 
and her family — the latter being unmistakably the 


THE TWELVE LITTLE BROILERS 135 

twelve yellow balls which four weeks’ good living had 
developed into twelve lively, long-legged, promising 
“ broilers.” The chimney of a cabin showed through 
the treetops, but Mr. Craig did not stop for that. 
He handed the reins to the other man, jumped out, 
grabbed the hen and threw her into the surrey, and 
then, twisting the lap robe into an improvised sack, 
gathered six of the chickens into it with a rapidity 
which was marvelous. 

Just as the seventh embryo rooster flew through 
his rightful owner’s hands with a piercing squawk 
Uncle Peter appeared in the edge of the wood. 
Uncle Peter’s face was a study of complete bewil- 
derment as he perceived what was transpiring. 

44 Wha’ yo’ doin’ da’ ? ” he demanded. 44 Wha’ fo’ 
yo’ kotch dem chick’ns ? ” 

Mr. Craig never stopped to consider why the face 
before him looked vastly aggrieved and not in the 
slightest degree ashamed. 

44 You old thief ! ” he cried, shaking his fist vigor- 
ously at the patriarchal form. 44 I have your own 
admission of your own guilt, and you are going to 
hear from this.” 

Then he got into the surrey and drove off, leav- 
ing Uncle Peter gazing after him more in sorrow 
than in anger, and totally unconscious that he had 
meant anything serious by his words. 

But poor old Uncle Peter learned his mistake most 
miserably soon, and that through a combination of 
disasters such as rarely concur in the world — 
thank Heaven. On Monday morning the train 
which should have carried Mr. Craig and his friend 
to Washington was rendered two hours late by an 


136 THE TWELVE LITTLE BROILERS 

accident. Mr. Craig — very much annoyed at the 
delay — decided to stroll around a bit instead of 
pacing the dirty platform. During the stroll he 
encountered and recognized Uncle Peter, come in 
town early to make some necessary purchase. Mr. 
Craig had his friend — who had heard the sinner 
admit the sin — right beside him, so that he was in 
a position to swear out a warrant and have it exe- 
cuted at once. Uncle Peter went to jail on default 
of a very small bond (for the magistrate understood 
even if the plaintiff did not), and Mr. Craig, having 
seen the trial set for the date of his next home-com- 
ing, placidly boarded the train and went on to 
Washington. 

It was to Aurora Borealis — who had accom- 
panied his father to town on that unlucky day — 
that the trial of returning alone and recounting 
what had occurred fell. The effect was harrowing 
enough, Uncle Peter being the mainstay of two fam- 
ilies, and the colonel finding the sum total of his 
ready cash somewhat below the sum total of the bail. 
The last of the Fenways was too proud to go and 
borrow, and there was not time to enter into any 
very extensive transactions for raising money. The 
noon hours of the ill-fated Monday passed unim- 
proved, and the absence of their butler did not in- 
convenience his master and mistress in one way, for 
it took away all their appetite for the meal which 
he was not there to serve. 

It was a very warm day, and the air was heavy 
and suggestive of approaching storms. Mrs. Craig, 
finding the baby unable to sleep as usual, had just 
brought her out upon the shady lawn and begun to 


THE TWELVE LITTLE BROILERS 137 

amuse her by throwing rose leaves into her hands 
and tossing her up among the white syringa 
branches when the solution of the problem loomed 
suddenly before her eyes. I say “ the solution of 
the problem,” because such was the real truth, but 
Mrs. Craig, not knowing of the existence of any 
problem, was naturally not seeking its solution, and 
did not know exactly what the thing at her gate 
might be called. She felt that at some period of the 
world’s history it must have had a name — but 
what? 

It was a most ancient and curious affair; a species 
of wicker bath chair mounted on ridiculously small 
wheels, the spokes of the latter being slender to a 
most alarming degree. The long, curved shafts 
which coyly embraced the mule who was the motive 
power were also exceedingly fragile, and the foot- 
man’s seat behind was as delicately poised as if de- 
signed for a fairy. It bore a large, covered basket 
carefully tied upon its support, and the basket’s 
twin hung under the shaped swell of the seat. 

No one could blame Mrs. Craig for standing still 
and staring open-mouthed upon this strange relic; 
but the next minute she was very nearly stricken 
senseless by seeing no less a personage than Colonel 
Fenway getting out of the dilapidated old rattle- 
trap. And such an astonishing Colonel Fenway, 
too! 

An old and tom straw hat, torn and ragged 
clothes, patched blue overalls, cracked and gaping 
boots, dirty hands, a shambly, stoop-shouldered walk. 

Mrs. Craig stood motionless. She was sure it was 
the colonel, and she could not grasp any clew to the 
call and the costume. 


138 THE TWELVE LITTLE BROILERS 

He was unfastening the straw basket on the foot- 
man’s seat and did not turn toward her until it hung 
upon his arm. Then he advanced, hat in hand, 
smiled a little, and addressed her in the broadest 
negro dialect. 

“ Yo’ alls want ah buy any chick’ns tah-day P ” 

Poor little Mrs. Craig, with the glamour of the 
lofty remoteness, the exquisite courtesy, and the en- 
tourage of shattered grandeur still fresh in her 
mind! But her intuition guided her eyes away from 
the face of the old gentleman, and she tried not to 
stammer as she said: 

“ Why ? — have you any to sell ? How much are 
they ? ” 

“ I do’ know, ma’am. The colonel — Colonel Fen- 
way — y’ know ? — he ask me will I tek dese heah 
chick’ns ’roun’ fo’ him. They done ’res’ his man 
Peter an’ he ain’ got no way ’a get ’em to folks. I 
do’ know nuffin’ ’bout ’em mahseff.” 

Mrs. Craig felt a painful stab of apprehension. 

“ Who arrested the man ? ” she asked. 

“ I do’ know, ma’am. I do’ know nuffin. The 
co’nel, he ask me will I tote ’em ’roun’ fo’ him, ’n’ I 
done say I will.” 

Mrs. Craig glanced toward the gate and saw a 
hand like oldest and smoothest ivory lying on the 
reins. Her heart was in her throat. 

“ Let me see the chickens,” she said, unsteadily. 

The colonel removed the cover. 

There lay the six of her twelve little broilers 
whom her husband had not been able to catch. She 
gasped. It all swam suddenly across her mental 
vision. 


THE TWELVE LITTLE BROILERS 139 

“ Will — will the old man be put in prison ? ” she 
cried, in great distress. 

The colonel towered up to his full height. 

“ He is in prison, ma’am,” he said, clearly and 
distinctly, “ but he will not sleep there to-night, be 
assured of that.” 

Mrs. Craig caught up the baby and moved 
quickly away. 

“ J ust wait until I get my purse,” she said, 
thickly, and then she went into the house. 

“ I haven’t any change,” she said when she re- 
turned a minute later, “ but here’s a bill. Won’t 
you ask the colonel to credit me with it and let his 
man supply me regularly with poultry? I’ll keep 
these now.” 

She put the bill into his shaking hand without lift- 
ing her eyes to the face above again. He set the 
basket down at her feet. 

“ Thank you, ma’am,” he said, very simply, and 
went out and drove back in the same direction 
whence he had come. 

An hour later she saw him again, dressed in his 
usual garb, and driving the old wagon in which 
Uncle Peter was in the habit of conveying himself 
and his wares about. He was evidently on his way 
to rescue his faithful servant, and that he was suc- 
cessful was evidenced by their return together just 
at sundown. 

Mrs. Craig had two of her little broilers for tea 
that night, and the evening she spent in writing to 
her husband. As a result there never was any trial. 
Mr. Craig withdrew his accusation and made Uncle 
Peter a handsome present to atone for the injustice 


140 THE TWELVE LITTLE BROILERS 

perpetrated when he had him arrested for chicken 
stealing. Uncle Peter bore him no malice whatever; 
on the contrary, he felt a gentle pleasure in being 
able to return good for evil. And this was how he 
did it. 

The accusation was withdrawn Friday afternoon, 
and that night the hen and the six remaining 
chickens disappeared again. 

“ Never mind,” Mrs. Craig said, laughing, as 
they stood by the empty coop Saturday morning; 
“ we understand now.” 

But they were not prepared for the magnanimity 
of the next development. 

Just as they were sitting down to dinner Aurora 
Borealis appeared in the dining-room door which 
opened on the garden. He had the covered basket 
on his arm. 

“ Mawnin’,” he said, with a bow that echoed the 
colonel’s own. “ My daddy say yo’ please akeep dese 
heah chick’ns wid his compellments ’n’ they ain’ no 
— bill — on — ’em.” 

They opened the basket and saw the last six of 
their little broilers laid out therein upon a bed of 
cabbage leaves. Mr. Craig gave the small darky 
a quarter, and did not trust himself to look at his 
wife until both had heard the clicking of the gate. 

Then: 

“ Well, love? ” he asked, pointedly. 

“ I’m just a jumble of conflicting emotions,” she 
confessed. 

“ I own to similar sensation,” he said, patting her 
cheek, “ but pull yourself together ; we must become 
acclimated — that’s all.” 


HIS TERRIBLE FATHER 


P RINCE EITEL sat beside his toy poodle and 
pondered deeply. 

Prince Eitel was not really a prince — they only 
gave him the title by courtesy, because a real Prince 
Eitel was his godfather. But if his title was not 
real, his toy poodle was, nevertheless, a real toy poo- 
dle ; and his pondering — ah, that was the most 
utter reality of all! 

Prince Eitel was barely four years old, and no one 
in the great house supposed him capable of medi- 
tation. His gouvernante treated him like a precious 
little pet doll, his nurse classed him with his baby 
sister, Roschen, and his parents hardly thought 
about him at all. 

It was their attitude toward him which he was 
now engaged in considering. Within his little brain 
a crisis had arisen, and he sought a solution of the 
problem. For his mother was very dear to him, and 
he could bear it no longer. “ It ” was the life that 
that dear mother lived; no one would have given 
him credit for having observed ; but he had observed 
— and only too well. 

The mother of Prince Eitel was the sweetest 
mother alive. Her eyes were sweet and her lips were 
very sweet ; her bosom, where his head rested during 


142 HIS TERRIBLE FATHER 

those brief and blissful minutes which she sometimes 
gave to him, was warmest, softest and sweetest of 
all. Her hands were white and jeweled, her finger 
nails were as round and pink as his own, her hair 
was as soft and pretty as Roschen’s, and her voice 
sang even when she whispered. Her dresses were 
forever wonderful, and her ways were more wonder- 
ful yet. It was like a fairy tale to look and listen 
when she was by. Eitel worshiped her. When she 
was at the piano he loved to sit close by the window 
and hear the music float out into the garden and up 
to him. It filled his eyes with tears often and often, 
and then he would remember his father, and his heart 
would swell to bursting. 

For his mother was the victim of his father’s ill- 
treatment, and the little child who was supposed to 
be too young to know anything knew everything. 

The father of Prince Eitel was almost gigantic, 
and as dark as any story-book ogre. His eyes were 
big and fearfully black, and his mustache was worse 
yet. He had a most awful voice, and whomever he 
spoke to always minded instantly. When he played 
on his violin he would call out sharply in a strange 
tongue, and the dear little mother at the piano would 
play quite differently at once, or he would stamp 
with his foot and she would hurry her fingers and 
look up so anxiously to know if she was doing right. 
And Eitel would feel his tiny fist clinch in spite of 
himself. And yet he was supposed to know nothing. 

The terrible father never allowed Eitel’s mother 
out of his sight. She could not have her coffee until 
he was dressed, she was not allowed to go upon the 
terrace unless he went too, and while he wrote all 


HIS TERRIBLE FATHER 143 

the afternoon she was forced to sit near him in her 
low chair, or lie on the couch by the window. His 
cruelty extended even to the night, for when Eitel 
carried her a bouquet on the morning of her fete, he 
found her lying in bed, and the father was holding 
her tight in his arm, and would not let her sit up 
until she said 4 4 Please ” correctly in German. (For 

— I must remark in parenthesis — the one fault of 
this faultless mother was her German, which sounded 
all wrong, even to her worshiping son.) Eitel felt 
distinctly the cruelty and injustice of all this, and 
he was conscious of a mighty longing to be bigger 

— to be stronger — to be able to succor his mother 
in her dire distress — to be able to drag her out 
from the clutches which martyred her — and to 
carry her off to some safe, quiet spot where she might 
live, henceforth and forever, alone with Roschen and 
himself. 

But how to accomplish that so-much-to-be-de- 
sired end! 

That was the question, and to its solving the small 
boy was bending all his ingenuity. There was no 
one to whom he could turn, for he was well aware 
that he was not considered old enough to know any- 
thing. And he knew everything, and so well — so 
painfully well. It was very trying to be considered 
so infantine, now that he wore a belted blouse and 
leather leggings and 

His meditations were suddenly interrupted by the 
sound of wheels upon the driveway. Some one was 
coming, or else some one was going. He ran to the 
balcony to see. 

It was Conrad with the carriage, and a trunk was 


144 HIS TERRIBLE FATHER 

fastened upon the carrier behind. Somebody was 
going away. It could not be the mother, or she 
would have come to bid him good-by. It must be 
the father. Yes, it was the father, for he came out 
now with his gray ulster on his left arm and — Eitel 
choked — his right around the poor, maltreated 
mother. She had her handkerchief to her eyes, and 
he thought that she must have been beaten to cry 
so. The father stopped beside the carriage and 
added insult to injury, by first laughing at her and 
then kissing her. 

“ For only two days,” he said, in a jeering tone 
— “ for only two days ! ” 

She cried worse at that, and shook all over. 

Eitel was furious over her suffering. 

Then the father turned away and gnawed his mus- 
tache for a minute, and then turned again to her and 
said: 

“ Treasure, it is important that I go, but if you 
behave like this, I shall telegraph instead.” 

Eitel did not know what “ telegraph ” meant, but 
he understood that his mother was being threatened, 
and when he saw her cease weeping and become sud- 
denly calm, he divined that the threat must have 
been dire indeed. His father kissed her again, and 
then stepped into the carriage and drove away. He 
looked back until the turn by the oak tree, and then 
he was all gone. For a few seconds longer the sound 
of the wheels came through the woods, and then 
that faded too. 

And Eitel saw his mother alone below him. 

He went to the corner nearest her and leaned over 
the railing. 


HIS TERRIBLE FATHER 145 

“ Oh, my mother ! ” he called, loudly. It was the 
first time that he had ever called to her in his life 
like that. 

She raised her head and saw him. 

66 Thou, Eitel ! ” she said, in her funny German. 
u Have a care that thou fallest not. Where is thy 
gouvernante? ” 

“ She sleeps,” he answered ; “ she sleeps, and Olga 
is rocking Roschen’s cradle. I am all alone. May 
I come down and stay with thee, my mother? ” 

The mother hesitated a little, and then, looking 
up and seeing how wistful was the small face leaning 
above her, she said: 

“ Yes, come.” 

So he ran indoors and down the stairs and out to 
where she waited on the terrace, and, climbing be- 
side her there, he pressed his little body close in the 
circling of her arm and rejoiced to feel her quiver- 
ing breaths become quiet and regular once more. 

“ Thou art very unhappy, my mother,” he fal- 
tered after a little, trying to overcome the timidity 
that their very slight acquaintance had bred in him. 

She sighed. 

“ I will guard thee,” he declared, valiantly. “ I 
shall soon be a man.” 

She smiled faintly. 

He rested his head against her, and his soul was 
filled with love and longing. To sit like this within 
the curving of her silken sleeve and know that the 
father was gone and that she was all his — his alone 
— oh, he could never bear to see her frightened 
again — surely there must be a way to save her. He 
looked up at all the blue sky and at all the winged 


146 


HIS TERRIBLE FATHER 


birds, and his eyelids grew heavy with the despera- 
tion of his determinings. And then he slept and 
woke hours later under his own lace curtains, upheld 
by his own gilt eagle, and looked around to see 
madame by the window and to hear Roschen cooing 
in the room beyond. 

It was the late afternoon. Madame smiled when 
she saw that he was awake, and told him that he was 
to be dressed and have his tea in the rose-room with 
his mother, and that he must be very good, indeed, 
because his mother was feeling so badly. 

When he was dressed he hurried to the rose-room, 
but a terrible disappointment awaited him. Joseph 
told him that visitors had come and that his mother 
was in the salon, where no Prince Eitel of four years 
had ever been allowed to set his foot. He went sadly 
back to have his tea with madame, and afterward, 
when he played alone with his soldiers, he felt his 
resolution developing shape, and felt himself becom- 
ing capable of its undertaking. It was too bitter to 
suffer her suffering any longer. And why should 
they suffer when the wide forest lay so near and 
held such unlimited freedom within its depths — and 
always the so-much-to-be-feared father was safely 
absent. 

That night, at midnight, Prince Eitel was wak- 
ened by Olga. She stood there with one candle, and 
his mother’s maid, Josephine, stood beside her with 
another. It seemed that he was to be carried to his 
mother. Olga carried him, and Josephine carried 
the candle. They found his mother sitting up in 
bed. She had been crying and she could not speak 
when they came in. But she held out her arms to 


HIS TERRIBLE FATHER 147 

Eitel, and Olga put him into the nest-like place be- 
side her, and they carried the candles away, and the 
prince was in Paradise — a paradise of caressing 
hands and kissing lips that lulled him to the most 
ecstatic dreamings which his small brain had ever 
compassed. 

In the morning when he awoke she was sleeping 
still. Her hair was loose around her head, and her 
pretty, bare arms were crossed upon her bosom. He 
sat up in bed and worshiped in silence. Oh, how 
happy they would all be if only the father would 
never, never, return ! 

He leaned above her and kissed her cheek. 

She smiled and stirred and opened her eyes, and 
saw him and cried out. 

“ It is not the father,” he told her, reassuringly. 
She closed her eyes and two great tears forced them- 
selves out between her lashes and stood wet upon her 
cheeks. 

“ I love thee, my mother,” he told her, with a mad 
desire to be able to comfort her completely — to 
assure her that all was to be well, and that soon, too. 

“ Yes, yes,” she murmured. 

Olga came soon after and carried him away to be 
dressed, but his plan was complete now, and his mind 
was only busy with its details. As he ate his break- 
fast he slipped one roll into his blouse when madame 
was not looking. The roll was one of the details — 
a material detail, but a necessary one. The ingenu- 
ity needful for the inception of a plot had been his 
— now came the daring upon which would hang — 
must hang — its final triumph. 

After his breakfast he was summoned to the terrace 


148 HIS TERRIBLE FATHER 

to walk with his mother. It was a beautiful morn- 
ing, and the grass was a green sky starred with dew- 
drops. The deer came out of the edge of the forest, 
and ate a little, and stared a little, and then went 
back into their shadowy home. 

“ I wish we might walk in the forest,” he sug- 
gested, looking earnestly up into his mother’s face. 

“ As thou wilt,” she said, with her faint, sad smile. 

“ May we walk in the forest now? ” he asked. 

“ If thou wishest it,” she replied. 

And she gathered her skirt a little into her hand 
and went with him down the wide steps and along the 
walk. 

The forest was very large and very dark. Olga 
said that bears lived in it, and that bears were 
gnomes who had gotten tired staying down in the 
earth, and so had come up to wrap themselves in 
fur and play in the air for a while. Madame said 
that there were fairies in all the trees, and that they 
sat on the leaves and sang at night. Eitel had heard 
them singing. Oh, the forest was a wonderful place ! 

They followed the path in silence for a long way; 
sometimes it mounted up along the edge of the ra- 
vine and sometimes it descended to the level of the 
winding brook; here and there it opened widely be- 
neath the great beech trees, and then again it nar- 
rowed and was hardly of a space sufficient to permit 
of their keeping side by side. 

Finally the mother stopped, and said: 

“ It is a long ways that we are f rom home.” 

Eitel’s face flushed suddenly — his heart seemed 
to beat tremendously loud. 

“ There is a short way home,” he said. “ Madame 


HIS TERRIBLE FATHER 149 

leads me by it often. It goes ” — he stopped and 
looked about — “ it goes just by that tree there,” 
he said, pointing. 

His mother looked doubtful. 

u It will be better to return by the path,” she 
said. 

Eitel panted with excitement. 

“ No, my mother,” he urged. “ Thou art weary. 
Return only by the shorter way. I know it quite 
well.” 

His mother took her skirt freshly up in her hand. 

“ As thou wilt,” she said, with her faint smile, and 
together they entered the wood. 

The trees were very tall and very thick, and squir- 
rels darted and rabbits started here and there. They 
walked some time before either spoke, and it was only 
when they came to where the underbrush was not 
cleared that the mother stopped suddenly. 

“ Thou hast mistaken, Eitel,” she said ; “ here 
may we not pass.” 

Eitel’s breath came and went tumultuously, and he 
did not answer at once. 

“We have gone astray,” the mother said. 

“ No,” he declared, then, “ we did not go astray. 
We are lost in the forest, because I wished it.” 

“ Because thou wished it ! ” she cried, in astonish- 
ment, looking down at the small, upturned face that 
was pink with excitement ; “ because thou wished 
it!” 

Then he threw his arms tightly around her knees 
and pressed his cheek hard against her. 

“ Oh, my mother,” he exclaimed, passionately, “ I 
have brought thee away so that we may live forever 


150 


HIS TERRIBLE FATHER 


here in peace and happiness. The father can never 
find thee more — can never make, thee to weep again. 
At night I shall hold thee and kiss thee, and thou 
shalt be so happy, here safe in the forest.” 

She sank down upon the damp, leafy soil under 
their feet, and drew him down with her. 

44 Oh, Eitel, Eitel ! ” she murmured, and began to 
weep. 

He strove to comfort her, kissing her over and 
over, and after a while — a long while — she spoke 
to him. 

44 Who has taught thee such tales ? ” she asked. 

44 No one, my mother.” 

44 What has led thee to think so of thy father? ” 

44 Because ” he stammered — 44 because ” 

She clasped him close in her arms. 

44 It is my fault,” she said, gently — 44 all my 
fault. I have thought my son was very little, and 
all the while he was growing.” 

Then she smiled a little, drying her eyes. 

44 What should we eat here in the forest?” she 
asked. 

He felt vaguely that the ground was slipping from 
under his feet, but he put his hand into his blouse 
and felt a pride in his resources as he drew forth the 
roll. 

44 For thee, my mother,” he said. 44 1 am not hun- 
gry-” 

She looked at the roll and caught the little, little 
hand that proffered it, and kissed it. 

44 Dear little child ! ” she said, in the sweetest voice 
that he had ever heard, and then she put her hand 
beneath his chin, turned his earnest face up to her 


HIS TERRIBLE FATHER 151 

own, and told him all the tale of what he had thought 
he knew so well. 

“ But his eyes are so black, my mother ! ” he said, 
quite unaware that his own wondering orbs were 
equally black. 

She kissed him, smiling, and continued her story. 

“ But why does he keep thee forever shut up in 
his dark room when the sun and Roschen and I are 
all without? ” he further demanded. 

44 Dear child,” she made answer, 44 he can write no 
music unless I am there, because he loves me and 
because he knows that I love him. It is because we 
are so very happy that thy father creates more won- 
derfully every year — because each moment of our 
life is so supremely blessed.” 

44 But thou must obey him ever,” said Eitel, with 
a passionate grasping after supporting straws. 

The mother laughed. 

44 Naturally,” she cried; 44 if we all had not to 
obey him what would become of us? Obedience is 
very good for Eitel and for his mother as well. And 
so we shall now return homeward.” 

44 But the path?” he asked, doubtfully. 

44 1 will find the path,,” she replied, and rose to her 
feet and took his hand and led him away. 

His lips quivered. The downfall of his hopes was 
very terrible. His mother looked down upon him, 
and her heart was flooded with a tender sympathy 
which she had never known before. 

44 When the father returns,” she said, gently, 
44 thou shalt know and love him. We have not 
guessed how old our son had grown.” 

He tried to smile, but despair was in his heart. 


152 HIS TERRIBLE FATHER 

They came to the path and followed it back to the 
house. Roschen was on the terrace with Olga. Her 
brother realized suddenly that the life in the forest 
had not included her, and a dart of remorse entered 
his mind. 

“ I forgot Roschen,” he said, looking up in his 
mother’s face. 

She understood and smiled. 

It was the second morning after. 

Madame was taking her coffee, Olga was dressing 
Roschen for her morning ride on the terrace. Prince 
Eitel stood by the window. His heart was heavy, 
for the father had returned. Madame had told him 
that interesting piece of news just as soon as he had 
awakened — it had taken away all his appetite for 
his chocolate and roll. 

Olga carried Roschen in and put her down on the 
floor with her woolly lamb to play there for a minute 
while the little carriage was being prepared. 

“ Play thou with her, Eitel,” said madame, gently. 

Eitel made no reply — his voice was full of choked 
sensations. He had no feelings, except the over- 
whelming sorrow that the father had returned. 

Madame put down her coffee cup, rose and left the 
room. 

The seconds became minutes; it was very quiet, 
for Roschen was sucking her ;woolly lamb ; finally, 
Eitel turned around — in all his life he and his sister 
had never been left alone like that before! He had 
been alone occasionally — but both together — 
never. 

Then the door opened quickly, and both children, 


HIS TERRIBLE FATHER 153 

looking up, saw their father. He had two large 
boxes and a package in his hands. It was the first 
time that he had ever entered their apartment, and 
the first time that Eitel had ever seen him with any- 
thing except the violin in his hands. Decidedly, this 
was a morning of wonders. 

The father said not a word. He went to the table 
and unrolled the package, and took from the wrap- 
pings a large, hairy elephant, which he sat upon the 
floor by Roschen. The elephant waved its ears and 
tossed its trunk and moved its eyeballs from side to 
side. Roschen stopped sucking her lamb and stared 
at the new toy in tremendous astonishment. Eitel 
stared too. 

The father said not a word. He began to untie 
the boxes. When they were free of their cords, he 
took the cover from the upper one, and proceeded to 
unpack it. It was packed with soldiers ! Eitel 
wanted to remain afar, and stand upon his dignity, 
but his resolution wavered when he saw the soldiers. 
He looked at the father, but the father said not a 
word. 

Instead, he went to work to set out the troop of 
cavalry. They were magnificent, and no one would 
have supposed that a big man with such an awe- 
producing mustache would have understood how to 
line them up so well. Eitel came somewhat nearer. 
The infantry followed, and then came a complete 
field battery. The like had never existed before. 
Eitel approached still closer. The father never no- 
ticed him. Roschen was patting the elephant. There 
was not a sound in the room. 

The father put aside the empty box and opened 


154 HIS TERRIBLE FATHER 

that which had rested beneath it. It was a breathless 
moment. And then he lifted out a fort — a com- 
plete fort, and placed it behind the soldiers. 

There was a short pause. Eitel was beside the 
table — his eyes were shining — he was speechless. 

The father went to where Roschen sat and took 
her upon his arm. 

“ Seest thou the elephant, Roschen? ” he asked, 
in a voice that startled Eitel with its gentle sweet- 
ness. 

66 Inside ? What ? ” asked Roschen, trying to fill 
out her deficient vocabulary by pointing to the new 
toy. 

“ The elephant’s soul, of course,” said the father, 
laughing. 

Eitel looked at him. It appeared that some magic 
change had been wrought. He felt all his resentment 
fading most unaccountably. The father sat down 
in madame’s great chair, took Roschen on his knee 
and held out his other hand to Eitel. And Eitel 
went and took it, climbed upon the other knee, and 
never knew fear again. 

Madame did not return, nor Olga. But the 
mother came in after a little, and they all played 
with the soldiers and the elephant together. The 
father loaded the cannon and Eitel fired them, and 
when the soldiers fell dead on the field of battle, the 
mother clapped Roschen’s little hands. 

Finally Eitel began to grow weary ; although he 
was so far advanced toward manhood he still was in 
the habit of sleeping at eleven o’clock each morning. 
He rubbed his eyes vigorously, but they grew heav- 
ier and heavier in spite of himself. 


HIS TERRIBLE FATHER 


155 


Olga appeared in the door, and the mother rose 
and gave the baby into her arms. Eitel held up his 
face to be kissed, to the end that he might go too. 

“ I love thee, oh, my mother,” he said, earnestly. 

Then he hesitated ; one was towering there behind 
the mother. 

He ran back to him, he put up his two little arms, 
he felt himself seized and borne upward in the air. 

“ Oh, Eitel, Prinz Eitel ! ” said a voice in his ear, 
and the voice sounded husky. 

He put his arms tightly around the head that had 
such black eyes — such black hair — such a black 
mustache 

“ I love thee, oh, my father,” he whispered, cou- 
rageously. 

And then he was placed on the floor, and ran 
quickly after Olga and Roschen. 

And then the father and mother were alone to- 
gether. 





THE 


REVERSED LOVE LETTERS 



HE words were hardly out of Rudolf’s mouth 


A before both he and Angela were delighted 
with the idea. Each saw what an opportunity it 
gave to show the other how much better it might be 
done. Hitherto they had never written any love- 
letters, because they had never been separated, and 
also because it was not mutually admitted that they 
were in love. Every one else knew that they would 
probably be married within a year, but Rudolf him- 
self had doubts about Angela, and Angela was trem- 
blingly uncertain as to Rudolf. Each knew that the 
other would render earth heaven, but each doubted 
whether it was personally possible to give adequate 
returns. It seems proper just here to sketch in the 
outlines of Rudolf and Angela before entering upon 
the weighty subject of the letters. 

Rudolf was a big fellow with a small head and 
fine muscles. He had literally swum through college, 
and owed all sorts of honors to a strong back and his 
willingness to go on a diet and under a trainer. 
Angela, who was weak and wispy, regarded him as 
a hero — even as more of a hero than he did himself. 
In private meditations she always pictured him 
carrying her up-stairs and down-stairs when she was 


158 THE REVERSED LOVE LETTERS 

tired — and blushed at the sweet mutual future pre- 
sented to her vision. 

Angela was fair and flat and nineteen, with large 
blue eyes and neuralgia. Her ankles bent under her 
when she walked too far, and she had to give up 
music on account of the little bone in her wrist. No 
one knew just what ailed the little bone, and there 
was a mystery about the whole which made Angela 
even more interesting than the neuralgia. Any one 
with any knowledge of human nature can see at a 
glance that here was the wife for Rudolf, and the 
first time he saw her he realized that himself. He 
knew that as soon as they were married he would 
break up the neuralgia and settle the little bone in 
her wrist in short order, so he began to call, and the 
more he called the more in love he fell. 

Then came the summons to be best man at the 
wedding of a friend who lived in another city, and 
the tender suggestion that, of course, they would 
write, and Angela’s blushing murmur that she knew 
she could never write anything that would interest 
him , and Rudolf’s acknowledgment that he was but 
a poor letter-writer himself. Then Angela had 
laughed and said she had no idea what sort of letters 
a big, clever man would expect from a little, stupid 
girl, and then he had jokingly suggested that each 
should write the other’s letters. 

After that the idea went on wheels. Rudolf was 
quite enthusiastic on the subject, and Angela said 
that she did not know what kind of letters men wrote, 
but that she would write the kind she would like to 
get. 

“You won’t mind if they sound foolish? ” she 


THE REVERSED LOVE LETTERS 159 

questioned, crossing the ankle that turned the often- 
est over the one that turned only two times out of 
five. 

“ Oh, no,” said Rudolf, with his cheerful grin, 
which, when he felt tender, went straight across his 
whole face; “I shall like to see just what sort of 
letters girls — I mean, you — like.” 

So it was agreed; only, as an afterthought, they 
arranged that they might add postscripts in their 
own proper characters. 

Then Rudolf set forth, and four days later the 
first letters were exchanged: 

Rudolf to Angela (Angela's composition , but copied 
by Rudolf). 

My Dearest Miss Angela: How I have missed 
you! It was so terrible alone on the train. My 
eyes kept filling, and I could not eat any luncheon 
or any dinner. You know men can always eat, so 
you see how dreadfully lonesome I was. I thought 
about you all the day and all the night. I never 
slept a wink. It is terrible to feel so. I have your 
little handkerchief in my left breast pocket, and 
when no one was looking I took it out and kissed it. 
I cannot write more, for my head and heart ache so. 

Yours truly, Rudolf. 

P. S. (by Rudolf) : I copied the letter because 
I said I should, but I really had a very good trip. 
Potter and Wallsten got on toward nine o’clock, and 
we played poker all night. They said little Fitgetts 
had got a degree, and was going down your way. 
Be nice to him if you meet him. He’s a good sort. 


160 THE REVERSED LOVE LETTERS 


Angela to Rudolf ( Rudolfs composition , but copied 
by Angela). 

Dear Rudolf: When I got up this morning I 
made up my mind to turn over a new leaf. I bought 
some puttees and bound my legs straight up, and 
went out and walked five miles. My ankles never 
turned once, and I feel very fit. I also bought some 
light-weight dumb-bells, and intend swinging half 
an hour daily. That will broaden me out and shape 
me up. Of course I miss you, but if you’ll only stay 
away a week I’ll show you a different girl when you 
get back. 

Yours, Angela. 

P. S. (by Angela) : I copied it because I said 
I should, but, oh, Rudolf, how can you think I would 
dream of doing such things ! Puttying up my — 

my Oh, it is too awful ! I never would have 

believed it of you — never ! And as to swinging 
anything,, why, I should burst out all my sleeves. 
Besides, you forget the little bone in my wrist. I 
am not sending you another letter to copy, and I 
shall not send any more. You can write what you 
please. A Mr. Fitgetts has called, and says he 
knows you. He is not a bit like you. 

Rudolf received this letter just as he was setting 
off for a ten-mile tramp with Katharine Tenterden, 
one of the bridesmaids and a champion at basket- 
ball. He put it in his pocket and forgot all about 
it till the next day. For that Katharine Tenterden 
was responsible. She was a fine, red-haired, bloom- 
ing sort of production, who had been to college and 


THE REVERSED LOVE LETTERS 161 

missed at everything but the ball in basket-ball. 
Her head was even smaller than Rudolf’s, but she 
knew a way to hold a strand of hair out straight 
and slide it up fuzzily on itself with a comb to the 
end that her brains looked about a foot across. 
After the ten-mile tramp they stopped at a place 
where she didn’t mind going in, and there they got 
some beer and pretzels and then went back to the 
house, the long way. Miss Tenterden’s ankles never 
turned once — indeed, she danced until two the next 
morning, and grew so warm that her red hair ap- 
peared pale in contrast to her face. 

Meanwhile Angela and Mr. Fitgetts had met a 
second time and reached a degree of intimacy which 
led them to discuss Browning. Neither had read 
Browning, but each supposed, as a matter of course, 
that the other had. 

The next day Rudolf found Angela’s letter and 
read it, but had no time to draft further correspond- 
ence. The day after, he received another epistle, but 
as that was the day of the wedding, of course he 
could not read it, and the maids threw it into the 
waste-paper basket while the party was at church. 
The maids were excusable, for they had to get Ru- 
dolf’s bed down and out into the carriage-house, so 
as to serve punch in his room, and the time was lim- 
ited. 

However, it did not much matter, as all the letter 
said was: 

“ Why don’t you write? ” 

Angela had pictured Rudolf’s eager delight in 
opening the envelope in the face of her threat to 


162 THE REVERSED LOVE LETTERS 


write no more, and his bitter sorrow at finding only 
four words therein, after all. But the reader knows 
how far astray from the true facts her picturings 
wandered. 

The wedding went off most hilariously, and in the 
general final mix-up Rudolf kissed Katharine, and 
liked it. 

Curiously enough, that very day Mr. Fitgetts 
kissed Angela — ’s hand. After that the end loomed 
fair — and near. 

Angela wrote no more, and Rudolf went home 
with Miss Tenterden, so as to “ meet her family.” It 
may be mentioned that that same week Mr. Fitgetts 
had his mother come and board where he was board- 
ing, so as to “ meet Angela.” 

In late August Angela and Rudolf wrote again. 
Angela wrote first. 

Dear Rudolf: I wish to be the first to tell such 
an old and dear friend as you of my engagement to 
Mr. Fitgetts. He is going to be under Doctor Gibbs 
for awhile, and I suppose that later he will have the 
church. Doctor Gibbs will marry us, and I do hope 
that you can be here. 

Samuel will write you himself soon. 

Yours truly, Angela. 


Rudolf wrote: 

My Dear Angela: I surely am awfully glad to 
hear from you. Have been meaning to write, but 
if you’re engaged you know how it is. I am myself, 
too — to Katharine Tenterden. Awfully jolly girl 


THE REVERSED LOVE LETTERS 163 


— just my sort. Hope you’ll wish us joy. I wish 
you joy with all my heart. Fitgetts is a first-class 
sort. He never got on any team, on account of his 
eye-glasses, but he’ll suit you to a T. 

Do you know this takes a load off my mind? I’ve 
wanted to write you about Katharine, but I always 
sort of felt you might mind, don’t you know. 

With best wishes, 

Yours always, Rudolf. 

It may not surprise the feminine reader to learn 
that as quick as the mails could go around Rudolf 
got an answer. It ran as follows, and the writing 
ran, too — down-hill. A novelist would say that it 
bore “ traces of great agitation.” 

Dear Rudolf: I do congratulate you, but how 
could you suppose that I ever cared about you? I’m 
sure I never thought of such a thing. I showed 
Samuel your letter, and at first he thought of writing 
you as man to man, but he says it is nobler to take 
no notice. He did not want me to write, either, but 
I just had to. The very idea! I hope Miss Tenter- 
den is very strong. Angela. 



THE BRIDE’S PREVISION 



S the carriage drove off with Clara waving her 


hand and George waving his hat, Mrs. Steele, 
standing in the forefront of the crowd of guests, 
waved her handkerchief vigorously. She was very 
tired, and the black silk which the town fashion de- 
crees unto the mother of even a June bride was very 
oppressive; but nevertheless her gesticulation was 
hearty and energetic, for Mrs. Steele was one who 
never shirked any duty. 

The carriage disappeared, and the guests returned 
into the house. The festivity was practically over; 
and the bride’s mother, as she heard the rattle of 
wheels coming from the stables, felt her eyes invol- 
untarily marking the rice upon the floor, while her 
thoughts fluttered toward the carpet-sweeper. 

“ I do hope you aren’t too tired,” Arabella Popp 
cried, running up just then to say good-by. “ Oh, 
dear Mrs. Steele, do promise me that just as soon 
as we’re gone you’ll lie down — will you ? ” 

“ Well, I don’t know,” said Mrs. Steele, smiling. 
“ There’ll be a good deal to do first, I fancy.” 

“ Oh, but don’t do it,” said Arabella Popp; “ just 
leave it. I promised Clara that I’d tell you that her 
last wish was that you should just leave everything.” 


166 


THE BRIDE’S PREVISION 


u Well, I’ll certainly try to carry out Clara’s last 
wish, now that she’s gone,” said Mrs. Steele, good- 
humoredly. She was not only good-humored, but 
also sensible ; and had, besides, a sense of humor. 

“ I do wish I could stay with you,” continued Ara- 
bella Popp. “ Clara was so afraid that you would 
be lonely.” 

“ Oh,” said Mrs. Steele, with a sudden sense of 
alarm, “ 1 am never lonely. Pray — pray believe 
me.” 

“ You dear, brave thing,” cried Arabella Popp, 
catching her around the neck ; “ you sweet, coura- 
geous creature, you! Well, I shall run in to-mor- 
row, anyhow.” 

“ Pray don’t trouble over me,” said Mrs. Steele, 
readjusting that portion of the wedding decorations 
which encircled her own throat. She never had liked 
Arabella Popp ; and now she liked her less than ever. 
But she still smiled. 

“ So awfully so’y to say goo’-by, don’t you know ” 
— it was George’s chum, Harold Henbane, now — 
“ so awfully, awfully so’y to say goo’-by.” As Har- 
old Henbane had his hand out, Mrs. Steele had no 
choice but to put hers into it. “ So awfully so’y to 
have to ” — Harold Henbane hesitated, then sud- 
denly remembered — “ oh, to be sure — to say 
goo’-by, don’t you know.” 

Well, Clara had had a nice wedding, and every 
one had had all the turbot, punch, and — cham- 
pagne that they could ask, eat (and drink). Mrs. 
Steele wasn’t going to regret anything now — not 
even while Harold Henbane was working her arm 
slowly and automatically up and down. He stared 


THE BRIDE’S PREVISION 


167 


fixedly over her head at an oil-portrait of Clara’s 
grandmother’s third husband. 

“ So awfully so’y to say goo’-by,” said Harold 
Henbane meditatively. 

“ I’m sure it’s very good of you,” said Mrs. Steele, 
struggling to free herself. 

“ Oh, but it isn’t,” said Harold Henbane; “ fact 

is, I promised — what the devil did I promise? Oh, 
yes — fact is, I promised George to tell you I’d 
stay all night to-night to keep you from being lone- 
some — an’ I will, too — I will — fact is, I’d like 
to.” 

“ Oh, no indeed cried Mrs. Steele, with great 
emphasis. “ I can’t let you — indeed I can’t. You 
mustn’t think of it.” 

Harold Henbane looked alarmed. “ Mustn’t I ? ” 
he said, in great confusion. “ I wasn’t thinking of 

it. Really, I wasn’t. I hope you’ll believe me when 
I give you my word. I hope you’ll overlook it.” 

“ Why, of course,” said Mrs. Steele. 

“ Will you really, now ? ” 

“ Yes, yes.” 

“ You aren’t fooling me — are you? ” 

“ No, no.” 

The tears suddenly flooded Harold Henbane’s 
eyes. 

“ So awfully so’y to say goo’-by,” he said sadly, 
loosed her hand, and departed. 

“ Oh, Drusilla, I can’t — I really cannot leave you 
like this ” — it was Mrs. Kent, an old, old friend. 
“ I tell Crawford ” — Crawford was Mr. Kent — 
“ I tell Crawford he can just trot on home alone, 
and I’ll stay here. You’ll be lonesome.” 


168 


THE BRIDE’S PREVISION 


“ Oh, no,” cried Mrs. Steele, “ I won’t consent to 
your thinking of staying with me, Harriett; indeed 
I won’t.” 

“ That’s so like you, Drusilla ; always trying to 
think of others. But I know you, and I know how 
your heart is breaking, and I’m not going to leave 
you alone here; no, I’m not.” Mrs. Kent was hold- 
ing both of Mrs. Steele’s hands, and jumping mildly 
about in the fervor of her friendship. Mrs. Kent 
was totally unaccustomed to champagne and had no 
idea what she was jumping about for; or, indeed, 
that she was jumping about at all. 

u But, Harriett, I shall not be lonesome — I do 
assure you.” 

“ Don’t tell me” cried Mrs. Kent, her voice and 
her antics on the increase ; “ don’t tell me, Drusilla. 
I know how strong you are; I see how weak you 
are ; I know the struggle you’re struggling ; I know 

the ache you’re aching ; I know ” 

“ Harriett,” said Mrs. Steele firmly, “ you are 
talking foolishly. Go straight home to bed.” 

“ Oh, dear, I believe I ought to,” cried Mrs. Kent. 
“ I feel so queerly, Drusilla ; I never felt so before. 
I’m happy, and yet I want to cry, too — and some- 
how my legs do twitch so with nervousness. A wed- 
ding is so trying, I ” 

“ Yes, I know,” said Mrs. Steele, with great force 
of purpose. “ Now go, Harriett.” 

“ But I shall come to-morrow,” exclaimed Mrs. 
Kent ; “ I shall come to-morrow. Oh, Drusilla, say 
I may come to-morrow? Because if you don’t say 
that I can come to-morrow, I shall stay to-night.” 

" Go now — that’s all,” said Mrs. Steele ; and as 


THE BRIDE’S PREVISION 169 

she spoke the words she leveled upon her friend the 
sort of gaze that the lion-tamer keeps for the lion 
alone. 

So Mrs. Kent went. And one by one, or two by 
two, or a carriage-load at a time, they all went 
finally. It took patience, for the idea that Mrs. 
Steele would be lonesome was very prevalent — as- 
tonishingly prevalent, in fact. Still, they all did 
go finally. 

As soon as the house was empty except for her- 
self and her household, the bereaved parent divested 
herself of the stiff and binding black silk dress, sum- 
moned the servants about her, called for brooms and 
dust-pans, and began forthwith to set the house of 
mirth once more in order. It was very nearly nine 
o’clock when they were through, for the work 
dragged considerably, not only on account of the 
relaxation natural after a day of great doings, but 
also because there was a good deal of furniture to 
be moved, and no end of reboxing to be accom- 
plished before the temporary trustee of the wedding- 
presents could repose in perfect peace. George’s 
uncle — the one who provoked expectations on the 
part of every one in the family — had dowered the 
happy couple with a clock, which could under no 
circumstances be left in a damp atmosphere. There 
is always the chance of rain, so that Mrs. Steele 
dared not risk the clock on the back piazza all night ; 
in consequence, she, the gardener, the hammer, and 
the ice-pick formed a merry and able quartet until 
about half-past eight; then the gardener dropped 
the hammer on his foot ; from that time on the coach- 
man had to finish the job. 


170 


THE BRIDE’S PREVISION 


Betweenwhiles, the telephone rang constantly. 
Arabella Popp and other thoughtful friends en- 
treating Mrs. Steele to bear up and remember Clara 
was only gone for a fortnight, and that George was 
the best of men. At about quarter to nine, just as 
her mother had gone down cellar to sequestrate what 
was left of the champagne, Clara herself called up 
over the long-distance, to say that it hadn’t been a 
bit dusty; that they were just taking the train, and 
that George was the dearest, dearest, dearest of men. 
She choked toward the last, and begged Mrs. Steele 
to remember that Clara loved her mother just the 
same as ever. Mrs. Steele, who was making up her 
mind that she really must have the wall phone al- 
tered to the kind where you sit down, blessed her, 
and told her not to risk missing the train by talking 
any longer. “ George wants to say just one word,” 
said Clara. Mrs. Steele waited for George’s com- 
munication, but it was very short, consisting of the 

two brief words : “ Mother, my ” and then a 

violent sneeze. 

The caterer meanwhile had come to remove every- 
thing hired for the occasion. He and the cook dis- 
agreed violently as to a decorative center ornament 
which graced the mantel in the dining-room. Mrs. 
Steele went out there to calm them. As she was talk- 
ing with the belligerents, the telephone rang again. 
The minister had left his gold-rimmed glasses some- 
where up-stairs ; he thought in the bath-room, where 
he remembered taking them off to wash his hands. 
He said that he had hesitated to disturb Mrs. Steele, 
but on second thoughts had decided that a little 
effort might help her to rally her stunned forces 
after the blow of the day. 


THE BRIDE’S PREVISION 171 

As soon as the minister hung up, Mrs. Kent got 
the line to say that she believed, after all, she would 
come out for the night if the Steele horses could 
drive a carriage in for her. Mrs. Kent added that 
she really could not see now why she had not re- 
mained when she was out there. She said that she 
had had within her a strong feeling of duty to stay, 
but she had mistaken it for wedding-cake until after 
she got back to her own house. While Mrs. Steele 
was conversing with Mrs. Kent, and feeling more 
than ever how very necessary a sit-down telephone 
was to the sum of human happiness, the caterer fell 
from a step-ladder in the library, and came so near 
breaking his leg that nobody knew that he hadn’t 
done it until a doctor was hurried there to say so. 

It was fully eleven o’clock before the house was 
quiet after that episode. Mrs. Steele began to 
think that bed was never to be hers again on earth. 
She was “ awfully ” tired ; she really ached all over. 
In her prayers she thanked God that Clara was an 
only child, and that her wedding was accomplished 
for all time. She fell asleep without any delay. It 
seemed only a few minutes later when she was awak- 
ened by the violent ringing of the front door bell — 
in fact, by a thumb so steadily applied that the 
clangor echoed through the whole house. 

She went to the window at once, and looked out 
into the fabled calm of a country place. 

“ Who’s there? ” she cried loudly. 

“ Telegram,” came a voice from below. Of course 
she had to clutch her kimono and slippers and go 
down-stairs, receive the missive, and sign for it. 

Then she read it; it was from Clara. 


172 


THE BRIDE’S PREVISION 


Am thinking of you. Don’t be lonesome. 

Ever yours with love, Clara. 

Just twelve words! 

Mrs. Steele went back to bed. She felt a hundred 
times more tired than before ; every bone in her 
body seemed to be singing with fatigue. Fortu- 
nately she wasn’t long in getting to sleep again. 
Neither was she long in being wakened again. It 
was the same bell as before. 

Horrors! Had she got to get up again? 

“Who is it?” she screamed from the window, as 
soon as the ordeal of getting out of the comfortable 
bed had been accomplished. 

“ 7VZ-ygram,” came the voice from below, in the 
dark. 

This time, while going down-stairs, she slipped 
on a June bug that had managed to get into the 
house while the wedding-guests were getting out of 
the house. When one is prowling about alone in the 
dark, slipping on anything is most disagreeable. 

The telegram was from George on this occasion. 
Still shaken from the wrench which she owed to the 
June bug, Mrs. Steele paused by the newel-post to 
read this : 

Clara bright and cheerful. Trust in me, and don’t 
be lonesome. George. 

Just twelve words ! 

She climbed up-stairs again, and pitched herself 
upon the bed. Then she slept. 

It took an unusual din to arouse her the third 


THE BRIDE’S PREVISION 173 

time. The bell seemed to have been ringing hours 
before it succeeded in waking her at last. 

She was dizzy with sleep. She sat up and thought 
at first that to make a further exertion would be a 
physical impossibility. But where there’s a will 
there’s a way. On her way to the window she col- 
lided with furniture entirely off the main route, for 
her staggering limbs almost refused to support her; 
but she accomplished her purpose in the end. 

“ What is it ? ” she cried tartly, out into the hush 
and charm of the night. 

“ Itsch a chellygram, mum,” came the reply. 

“ Take it back to the office and tell them not to 
Send any more out to-night, do you hear-r-r?” she 
commanded wrathfully. 

“ Doanchewwantoreadit-t-t ? ” the boy yelled 
back. 

“No, I don’t.” 

With a mumble of astonishment at her lack of 
curiosity, he went crunching away over the gravel. 
Mrs. Steele returned to bed and tried to sleep once 
more; but this time it was no longer possible. She 
was too outraged and too nervous. Besides, she found 
that, after awhile, she heard queer sounds; stealthy 
footsteps without; and then one of the porch seats 
was roughly jarred. She sprang to the window and 
listened sharply! Yes, there was some one below; 
she could hear him distinctly. Oh, that wedding 
silver! What a prize for burglars! 

She listened intently. The man was going around 
to the back of the house. She slipped to a side win- 
dow, and heard the soft pad of his feet on a flower- 
bed. Horrors ! what was to be done ? Suddenly, 


174 THE BRIDE’S PREVISION 

leaning against a window-screen for support, she 
called out : “ Speak, or I fire ! ” a well-worn but 
usually effective phrase. 

A slight cry sounded from below, then: 

“ Oh, for God’s sake don’t, mum ! ” said a man’s 
voice. 

“ Who are you ? ” 

“ I’m a watchman, mum.” 

“ Who sent you here? ” 

“ Your son-in-law, mum ; so you’d be safe to-night 
whatever come.” 

Mrs. Steele recoiled abruptly from the window. 
She wondered why she had not adhered to her first 
presentiment of not wanting George to marry Clara. 
“ I should have been asleep now if I had persevered in 
my opinion,” she moaned bitterly to herself. 

But it was of no use to consider such futilities 
now. George had probably meant the watchman 
kindly. At any rate, she must bear all in patience. 
So she returned to the window. 

“ Try not to walk on the gravel, as that would 
wake me up again,” she called out as mildly as she 
was able to call out. 

“ Yes, mum ; I sympathize with ye, mum. I’ve 
had a daughter married mesilf, mum. ’Tis the first 
as is hardest, mum.” 

She went back to bed. Still impossible to sleep. 
The dawn was forever in coming. When it came, it 
was a rainy dawn. Mrs. Steele did fall asleep at 
about seven. At seven-thirty, Mrs. Kent telephoned 
to know if she should come at eight. The maid woke 
Mrs. Steele to know her answer; but Mrs. Kent had 
hung up before the maid returned. The result was 


THE BRIDE’S PREVISION 


175 


that Mrs. Kent arrived at about eight. Arabella 
Popp came at nine with her aunt and her knitting. 
It seemed that Arabella had promised Clara to do 
this the day before. 

“ I never break my word, not even if it rains,” 
said Arabella Popp. 

Mrs. Steele said “ so she saw.” 

At nine-thirty Clara herself called up on the long- 
distance again. 

“ Dearest mama,” she said, “ George is shaving ; we 
have a telephone right in the room, so I can talk with 
you whenever I want to. I am talking over it now.” 

“ Drusilla,” said Mrs. Kent, who was very much 
in a day-after-the-party mood, “ tell the dear child 
we are trying our best to distract you.” 

Mrs. Steele at that turned resolutely upon the 
telephone. 

“ Clara,” she said, with cruel distinctness, , “ I 
never slept last night ; every one is kindness itself ; 
every effort is being made to distract me; and I 
may remark that I am already half-distracted.” 

“ Are you lonesome? ” Clara asked tenderly. 

“No — only sleepy,” replied her mother. 

“ Oh, mama, you are always so droll ! But don’t 
this carry you back to your own early wedded 
days ? ” 

“ I hadn’t thought of it,” said Mrs. Steele ; “ but 
then you know I’ve often told you that my honey- 
moon was the only thing that your papa gave me 
for a wedding-present; so George and his sunburst 
could hardly recall him to me.” 

“ Oh, George is too sweet ! ” said the bride ; “ he 
is beginning to shave the other side now.” 


176 


THE BRIDE’S PREVISION 


“ Well, I send him my best wishes,” said the 
mother-in-law. 

“ He wants me,” said the bride. “ Good-by, dear- 
est mama.” 

“ Good-by.” 

When Mrs. Steele turned from the telephone Ara- 
bella Popp was rolling up her knitting. 

“ Do you know, I believe auntie and I will go 
home,” she said, looking quite red. 

“ And I’m going, too, Drusilla,” said Mrs. Kent, 
looking quite white. “ Now don’t say a word, be- 
cause I’m surely going.” 

“ I’m not saying a word,” said Mrs. Steele. And 
they went. 

As soon as she was alone, she unhung the receiver 
of the telephone and left it dangling. Then she told 
the servants to say to callers that she had departed 
for the Rockies. Mounting to her chamber, she pro- 
ceeded to go to bed. 

“ I’ll remember one thing when Clara’s eldest 
daughter gets married,” she said. “ I’ll tell my 
granddaughter to leave Clara in peace; to be lone- 
some or be anything else she likes.” 

Then she went soundly to sleep. 

Five minutes after, the maid aroused her with an- 
other telegram. She was exasperated, but 6he sat 
up calmly and read: 

Dearest Mama, just getting into the buggy. 
Don’t be lonesome for — Clara. 

Just twelve words ! 

She stared at it. Then she saw that this should 


177 


THE BRIDE’S PREVISION 

have preceded all the rest. She hardly knew whether 
to laugh or cry. 

“ Is the boy gone, Amelia? ” she asked. 

“ No, ma’am.” 

“ Give me a pencil, please — I want to write a 
message.” 

The maid obeyed. 

And Mrs. Steele wrote: 

Dear George and Clara, I am not at all lonesome. 
Believe me. 

Just twelve words ! 

“ Take that to the boy,” she said. 



\ 


GASPAKD AND HIS WAX LADY 



HERE was once upon a time in a small French 


-L town a particularly small friseur of the name 
of Gaspard. A friseur is a hair-dresser, and Gaspard 
was a hair-dresser by inheritance and by inclination : 
by inheritance, because his six elder brothers had 
preferred to go to the Colonies rather than to re- 
main at home and f riser for the support of their 
aged parents; by inclination, because all who had 
ever come in contact with his work were forced to 
admit that he was a true artist. 

I have said that Gaspard was small; but I must 
qualify the statement by stating that he had a good 
heart. He was so small that he respected and looked 
up to individuals five feet nothing ; but his heart was 
the best in the world, and really was the only thing 
that stood in his way as to worldly advancement ; for 
if it had not been for that good heart he could have 
bought himself a wax lady, and might then have 
snapped his fingers in Alphonse’s face several years 
before — but I am getting ahead of my tale. 

Alphonse was the rival friseur. It is a bitter fate 
that gives even a friseur a rival. It would have 
seemed to the casual observer that Gaspard was 
sufficiently handicapped by his good heart, without 
having Alphonse thrown in for good measure. But 


180 GASPARD AND HIS WAX LADY 

Alphonse (who was doubly barbed by being espe- 
cially tall) moved into the town three weeks after 
Gaspard superseded his father, and he remained there 
until events of which you shall soon learn removed 
him out of our dear little friend’s path. The rivalry 
was sharp and cruel, and as Alphonse’s cleverness lay 
chiefly in adaptation, and as he had from the first 
a wax lady to adapt them on, it will be readily com- 
prehended that Gaspard suffered sadly in the way of 
business competition. 

It is difficult to so arrange a wig on a pasteboard 
cone that it will produce the same effect on those who 
look in windows as the same arrangement on a wax 
lady. The most beautifully rolled curl hanging loose 
will never cause an outsider the same emotion as 
when it lies carelessly over a creamy wax shoulder. 
And he who tells me that any front view is feasible 
with a pasteboard cone tells me something which 
causes me to deeply doubt the soundness of his intel- 
lect. 

Of course Gaspard realized all these facts keenly; 
of course he was half -mad in his desire, nay, in his 
absolute need, of a wax lady; but waxen ladies cost 
money, and our hero never seemed able to save any. 
An old mother with false teeth, an old father with a 
tendency to palpitations of the heart in those hours 
that a doctor charges double, and an old shop that 
first caves in and then leaks overhead — these were 
the first reasons why Gaspard could not save. But a 
tendency to buy cakes for wistful-eyed children, to 
give pennies to uninvestigated beggars, and to in- 
vent new coiffures for poor but pretty girls, these 
were also reasons and good reasons for poverty, and 


GASPARD AND HIS WAX LADY 181 

to these further accusations he was also forced to 
plead guilty. 

It was a Sisyphus task to support a good heart 
and a rival with a wax lady at the same time, but poor 
Gaspard seemed doomed to nothing better, try as he 
might to better himself. There was a day when he 
had perfected his truly remarkable coiffure of the 
ten separate curls drawn up on top with a ribbon — 
that coiffure to which he gave the name “ la princesse 
imprisonnee ” and which he fondly hoped might carry 
his name far out into the universe — that day his 
heart fairly sang with hope. But the next day Al- 
phonse his rival adapted “ la princesse imprisonnee 
constructing it with eight curls and their ends tied 
in a bow-knot, named it “ la reine libree” and exhib- 
ited the whole on his wax lady. Heavens! what a 
blow ! 

I am not going to harrow your soul by giving the 
details of Gaspard’s life for all those first years. He 
kept having his mother’s teeth repaired and his 
father’s heart regulated, and a board laid here and 
a shingle nailed there in the shop, until it seemed to 
him that life was all a delusion. Naturally, if he 
could have had a wax lady he could have found com- 
fort in displaying his art on her artificiality ; but as 
it was he needed only to give forth an idea over his 
pasteboard cone, and Alphonse stole it at once and 
embellished his model with it. I tell you it was 
crazing, and Gaspard would often have gnashed his 
teeth, only he was scared to death of any more den- 
tist’s bills. He could not help designing coiffures; 
for he had the nature of a genius in hair, and every- 
thing he saw or heard inspired him to a new manage- 


182 GASPARD AND HIS WAX LADY 

ment of that matter ; but the want of a wax lady fell 
never so keenly over him, and nothing in the world 
but his good heart kept him from becoming a cynic. 

He tried to buy the necessary article on the instal- 
ment plan; but when he was one franc short of the 
first payment his mother died, and he had to go sixty 
francs in debt for her funeral. It took eight months 
to pay off the sixty francs, and then, just as he was 
about to reopen negotiations, his father was taken ill 
with his liver, and finally died of that — an action 
that would have greatly exasperated any son but 
Gaspard, when you consider those years and years 
of doctoring for his heart. 

But now at least our hero was free, and he told 
himself that when the second undertaking bill was 
settled there would be a wax lady in his window at 
last and people should then have a chance to see what 
he was capable of doing. 

. About this time a rich widow came to live in the 
town, and as she required to be “ waved ” daily, Gas- 
pard felt that perhaps his luck had turned at last. 
I do not mean by that that he entertained any mer- 
cenary ideas regarding her widowhood — I only 
mean that he regarded her as a source of steady 
income. She was fat and unattractive, and so large 
that he had to stand on a footstool to do her summit 
properly; but she was so faithful and such good pay 
that by October he was out of debt and ready to 
begin to lay by for the cherished ambition’s pur- 
chase. By Christmas he had again saved almost 
enough for the first instalment, and he was so happy 
that he made the rich widow a holiday compliment 
by naming his newest conceit — a roll of braids wind- 


GASPARD AND HIS WAX LADY 183 

ing neatly to a peak wherever a peak was most be- 
coming — “ la pyramid a la veuve” But alas ! the 
effect of this feat was entirely other than anticipated. 

Alphonse stole the idea as usual and crowned the 
peak with a little bunch of trickling ringlets. Pie 
put the whole on top of his model, christened it “ le 
char me de la veuve” and poor Gaspard lost his best 
client at once as a consequence. Two days later his 
one chimney fell in, and the future looked dark in- 
deed. When the chimney was rebuilt all the instal- 
ment money was gone, and Madam the Wax Lady 
was again as a mirage in the desert. Sad, was it not? 
Gaspard had no doubt as to the adjective. He won- 
dered if a cocoanut would not perhaps be better than 
a paper cone, bought one and tried it. Oh, Heavens ! 
only for his good heart he would have committed 
suicide. 

It was April, a wet day. The little friseur was 
setting his window in order. His kindly nature 
showed itself in his earnest endeavor to combine bot- 
tles, pins, and switches in a manner calculated to give 
the passer-by a pleasant sensation rather than a 
shiver. He shook out the fringes of the curls and 
laid them artistically about, brushed every toupee till 
it shone, and placed a rhinestone star on the apex 
of the paper cone. While he was pinning the star 
firmly in place (for it looked like rain, and when it 
thundered his shop nearly fell to pieces), a shadow 
darkened the glass. He looked up and saw a pale, 
thin young girl leaning against the window. She 
was not pressing close from curiosity — he knew 
enough about women to know that she was fainting. 
The next second she had done it and lay across his 
doorstep. 


184 GASPARD AND HIS WAX LADY 

He ran out and brought her into the shop — a 
hard task, for she was tall and he was short. He 
managed to get her on the hard little sofa and to 
gather up her trailing members and get them on to 
the sofa too, and then he held camphor to her nose 
and splashed water over her freely until she came to 
and opened her large dark eyes and looked at him. 

“ I am starving,” she said then. And he hurried 
and heated some broth and brought it to her and fed 
her as tenderly as if she had been a baby. 

“ I am cold,” she said when she had eaten, and at 
that he straightway helped her to the little room 
which his parents had occupied and lit a fire in the 
tiny fireplace, and leaving her to rest ran to the 
neighbor who had sometimes ministered to his mother 
and brought her to the succor of the poor girl. 

It was only then, when he had done all that the 
dictates of his good heart had commanded, that Gas- 
pard began to reflect on the white, white skin, and 
thick black hair of her whom he had taken in. 

But it was true about her skin and true about her 
hair, and in two days’ time the pink came to her 
cheeks and the red to her lips, and with a wondrous 
bound, overpowering all the goodness in his heart, 
Gaspard saw that he had had a model given him 
which would send Alphonse, his waxwork, and his rich 
widow clear into the shade. He begged permission to 
do her hair at once, and made a gorgeous wall of it 
above her brow, having an outwork of cunningly 
looped braids; then he sat her in his window and 
rubbed his hands with joy, and before an hour half 
the town had walked by and one woman who had no 
hair to speak of had come in, purchased a fine switch 


GASPARD AND HIS WAX LADY 185 

and requested that “ la couronne d’ange ” (the new 
coiffure) be forthwith placed over her. 

That was the real turning-point in Gaspard’s ca- 
reer. He seized his opportunity with avidity, and 
Dinette, his visitor, bloomed forth in a new head- 
dress daily. He arranged for her to live with his 
old neighbor, and taught her to curl mustaches. The 
business boomed at once. Every man raised a mus- 
tache, and every woman bought a switch. When the 
whole town was switched, Gaspard banged Dinette’s 
hair and curled the fringe. Then the whole town 
bought curls. It all shows what a tremendous amount 
of business talent may be hidden behind a good heart. 
Gaspard waxed rich, and Alphonse waxed poor. In 
August when one may properly go somewhat decol- 
lette in the day-time, Dinette completely outshone the 
wax lady. Her curls laid around her neck with such 
careless and delightful abandon that Gaspard took 
the agency for a flesh-food and sold dozens of boxes 
weekly. Finally Alphonse gave up in despair and 
married the rich widow, who had been madly jealous 
of his wax lady for months. 

That was a great day for Gaspard. He became 
the only frisewr in the town, and the joy in his heart 
was such that he asked Dinette to become his wife. 
Dinette took a day to think it over, and then she 
accepted. They were quietly married in a chapel 
back of the altar; for she was nearly ten inches the 
taller, and although grateful for being saved from 
starvation, still would naturally have preferred to 
take a man of her size. Gaspard invented her bridal 
coiffure. He had a dove made of wire, and wove her 
hair in and out of it so skilfully that I have heard on 


186 GASPARD AND HIS WAX LADY 

good authority that the first nineteen hours of their 
wedded life were spent in endeavoring to get the 
dove out of her head again. 

It was a fortnight later that Gaspard reaped the 
triumph of his life. It came about in this way. One 
lovely morning Dinette was giving a final twist to 
the ends of the first lieutenant’s mustache, while three 
other men sat side by side on the hard sofa and 
waited their turn. Gaspard himself was standing on 
his footstool while he “ waved ” the new front of the 
leading baker’s wife, a woman who had never had 
even so much as a shampoo before the coming of 
Dinette. Just then Michel the assistant (oh yes ! of 
late they had been absolutely forced to employ an 
assistant) came in from where he had been washing 
the sidewalk and said that a gentleman awaited mon- 
sieur outside in his wagon. If Gaspard had guessed 
that it was Alphonse he would perhaps have enjoyed 
keeping him waiting awhile ; but as he did not know 
who it was he told the baker’s wife that she could do 
the waiting, and flew out of the door at once. 

He was not overjoyed when he saw that it was his 
former rival; but when he learned his rival’s errand 
his good heart succumbed at last; for Alphonse ab- 
solutely desired to sell him his own old wax lady, that 
object that had embittered his every hour for years 
and years and years. 

Gaspard drew himself up. His head came level 
with the top of Alphonse’s wheel, but he felt himself 
a giant. 

** SacrS bleu ! ” he said (he never used bad lan- 
guage himself but he had accidentally cut enough 
men while shaving them to have had this expression 


GASPARD AND HIS WAX LADY 187 

impressed upon his mind) — “ sacre bleu! Alphonse ! 
And do you for one moment — for one second — 
think? Mon dieu! Do I live? Do I hear? A wax 
lady ! — a thing of wax ! And she to me — to me — 
to me, who am the husband of the most beautiful wax 
lady who has ever lived! Look only through my 
window ! But behold her ! And you offer me of wax ! 
Go, I bid you, go! Provoke me not further! I am 
but human ! Go ! ” 

He paused and panted. His utterance choked for 
a second. All his stolen masterpieces, all his patient 
efforts toward one end, only to see it everlastingly 
deferred, came rushing upward in one geyser of 
deadly hate. The longing for revenge overcame 
him. The barriers of resistance were swept away by 
its resistlessness. He paused, drew one single long 
deep breath, and then, “ Alphonse ! ” he hissed, 
snapped his fingers in the other’s face, and turned 
and entered the shop. 

Alphonse became white ; but was powerless to 
defend himself against the accusation, so he drove 
away. 

“ I called him Alphonse to his face,” said Gaspard 
to all his hearers who stood within, as he picked up 
the curling tongs and mounted his footstool again. 

A thrill of awe and admiration ran around the 
room. Dinette looked proudly at her husband, whose 
chest was expanding visibly as he prepared a fresh 
attack upon the baker’s wife. Dinette’s hair was 
wonderfully done in a bunch over each ear, a rose 
sticking out of each bunch — this coiffure had been 
named “ Cherie ma rose ” by its designer, and be- 
came its wearer immensely. 


188 GASPARD AND HIS WAX LADY 


(Oh, by the way, it is a deadly insult to call any 
man “ Alphonse ” in France. 66 Alphonse ” is the 
cognomen in popular parlance for one who allows 
his wife to support him. This little explanation 
appears to me to be a fitting and proper climax to 
my tale.) 


HER HUSBAND 


J ERRY was a big, splendid fellow — so big that 
he had a right to be splendid, and so splendid 
that he couldn’t help knowing it. Perhaps he knew 
it a bit too well, but, then, most men in his situation 
are bound to do that. 

Anyway, he was fond of trout-fishing, and, being 
fond of trout-fishing, was naturally attracted to the 
brand-new resort which advertised square miles of 
virgin forests with sport for the multitude. Siddons 
had been there and said it was all true and that Jerry 
would be in Paradise. Jerry, with the hotel’s folder 
in his vest pocket, was easily persuaded to believe his 
friend’s statement, and took the Saturday’s train. 
Siddons followed him on Sunday. “ She ” arrived 
the Tuesday after ! 

The reason why I went into the above details was 
so that you might clearly understand that this was 
a very new place. The peculiar thing about a new 
place is that the people who go there are generally 
as new as the place. No one has ever heard of any- 
one else, and so it was but natural that Siddons and 
Jerry, who were not new and would never have 
dreamed of coming except for the trout, should never 
before have heard of “ her.” 

“ She ” arrived in a peacock blue broadcloth 


190 


HER HUSBAND 


travelling-dress, the cut and style of which was so 
perfect that everyone forgave and forgot the color. 
She brought with her a maid and sixteen trunks. 
There are no better social vouchers (in a new place) 
than a maid and sixteen trunks, so she was accepted 
with open arms, and Siddons introduced her to Jerry, 
and Jerry — who had nothing half-hearted about 
him — fell madly in love with her at once. 

Being madly in love leads naturally to close ac- 
quaintance, and by Friday the necessity for time to 
know her better yet led to Siddons being obliged to 
fish alone. 

Matters went on so fast that at the end of the 
week (that is to say, on Saturday night) Jerry felt 
that he knew her through and through; then Sun- 
day came, and Monday, and their passing carried 
him so much farther ahead that when he had known 
her a week he was acutely conscious of the fact that 
he didn’t know her at all. When this fact dawned 
upon him he ceased to be madly in love, reformed 
completely, went way back, and began all over at 
the beginning. 

He did this because she piqued his curiosity and 
interested him beyond the point to which any other 
had ever led or driven his buoyant conceit. He felt 
that she was well worth some extra trouble, and felt, 
also, that he was more than willing to undertake 
the work necessary to her winning. The peacock 
broadcloth gown did not seem to fit into her general 
make-up at all — she certainly had more to her than 
that particular color would ever have led anyone to 
expect. She was beyond a shadow of a doubt an 
especially curious bit of bewitching womanhood, and 


HER HUSBAND 


191 


he felt his newer and deeper interest developing 
almost as rapidly and strongly as the first and com- 
moner phase of his susceptibility was accustomed to 
doing. 

Siddons fished, and his friend walked and talked 
with “ her.” It was all very delightful until, just as 
the fortnight was closing in, she suddenly referred 
to an expected arrival upon the morrow. 

“ I sha’n’t be alone any more,” she told him, look- 
ing straight up in his face and smiling, “ and you 
can come and call on me in my own parlor. That’ll 
be so much nicer. I’m always glad when my hus- 
band’s with me and I can ask my friends to my own 
rooms.” 

He ran the cord of his monocle up and down 
through his fingers. Well, what of it? Of course 
he must have known that she must have had a hus- 
band. All women naturally had husbands. It didn’t 
make any difference to him anyhow, because he was 
only fooling a little. He never for a moment had 
thought of being in earnest. 

“ I’ll be especially glad to have you alone in my 
own parlor,” she continued in a tone that sounded 
more serious than any which he had ever heard from 
her before, “because I want to say something very 
important indeed to you ; it’s something that I want 
to ask you about, and it’s a subject which one would 
never think of trying to discuss in public.” 

He looked at her in some surprise, but she never 
noticed the look and continued: 

“ I expect that my husband will arrive about noon 
to-morrow. Won’t you come in at five o’clock and 
meet him and let me give you a cup of tea? ” 


192 


HER HUSBAND 


He saw no reason why he should refuse to meet her 
husband or drink her tea, so he accepted the invita- 
tion to do both, and the next day, having gone fish- 
ing to please and pacify Siddons, he hurried home 
extremely early so that he might please and pacify 
his own contradictory inclinations. 

Her suite was on the third floor and gave upon the 
forest. It was one of those which include two towers 
and a balcony. The tea-table was spread upon the 
balcony, and some lazy East Indian chairs and rugs 
and cushions kept it company there. He observed 
all this during the half minute that he waited in the 
small reception-room. Then she came in — and her 
husband. 

The caller received rather a startling shock when 
his eyes met those of the husband. 

For the husband was a giant, and his eyes were 
simply electrifying in their piercingly quick and in- 
tent glance. He was very handsome, and the hand- 
clasp which followed the introduction was most cor- 
dial — almost too cordial, in fact, for it was of that 
species which preclude all sensation until ten minutes 
after. 

They passed out upon the balcony at once, and she 
poured the tea, chattering gaily, almost nervously, 
as she did so. Her husband sat at her side in silence, 
looking sometimes at her, sometimes at Jerry, and 
sometimes at the forest; he did not appear particu- 
larly interested in what she was saying, but his ex- 
pression was more placid than bored. 

After the tea-drinking was completed a maid 
came out and removed the tray. Then her husband 
placed his chair so that he could rest his feet upon 


HER HUSBAND 


193 


the balustrade and offered Jerry his cigar-case. 
Thereupon the latter helped himself to a cigar and 
soon discovered that it was by long odds the best 
that he had ever knocked over the head with his 
cigar-cutter. 

She had been laughing and talking every minute 
up to now, but now, when the two cigars were well 
alight, she suddenly grew quite grave, leaned her 
elbows upon the table, rested her chin upon her 
crossed hands, glanced at her husband, and addressed 
the visitor thus : 

“ You won’t mind my being very serious indeed 
now — will you? — * because — as I said before — I 
have something very serious that I want to talk to 
you about — and I never could talk to you alone 
until my husband came.” 

Jerry felt his fingers seeking the cord of his mono- 
cle in a species of qualm over the extreme earnestness 
of her address, but before there was any such a pause 
as demanded filling by him she went on: 

“ You don’t know how dreadfully I’ve wanted to be 
alone with you ever since I first met you. It’s so 
crazing to have things to say that you can’t say 
unless you’re positive that you won’t be interrupted 
— and you know, although we’ve been together all 
day long, still we’ve never been really like this 
before.” 

Jerry felt horribly uncomfortable and didn’t know 
what to say, so looked at his patent-leather toes and 
shook his head. He didn’t know just why he shook 
his head, but it seemed the only safe thing to dare 
just then. 

“ What I want to talk about,” she went on, “ is 


194 


HER HUSBAND 

the feeling that men like you and women like me have 
for one another. I know that you are just as at- 
tractive to women as I am to men, and I want to 
know whether the basis of that attraction is the same 
with you as it is with me.” 

She paused; her husband was looking at the for- 
est; Jerry was grasping the cord of his monocle 
with a strength that he could feel in the back of his 
neck. Within his heart he felt that the peacock blue 
hadn’t been so far wrong after all. 

“ Do you think you get my meaning? ” she asked 
after a moment. 

“ I don’t think that I do,” he answered bluntly. 

She laughed softly. 

“ Yes, you do, too. It’s a species of vanity — 
now, isn’t it? We’re naturally attractive and we 
know it, and we want everyone else to know it too — 
don’t we? You wanted me to like you the first instant 
that you saw me — didn’t you? Why won’t you 
own up ? ” 

Her husband was looking at her now: he was so 
large that the back of his chair was tipped against 
the wall and his legs bridged the width of the bal- 
cony. Jerry, big as he was, was a pigmy beside him. 
He wished like thunder that he was off fishing. 

“ I can’t at all admit any of that,” he asserted. 

“ What nonsense ! But if you won’t admit it, it’s 
true, none the less. But we’ll go on a step further. 
Grant the mutual attractiveness, and let’s see how 
far beyond that the similitude extends. When you 
met me and were attracted by me did you recognize 
the fact right off, or did it dawn upon you gradually ? 
I saw that you were epris at once. You see Vm 
honest.” 


HER HUSBAND 


195 


Her husband was shaking the ash from his cigar, 
and as he did so his eyes encountered Jerry’s. The 
latter was beginning to feel decidedly ill. 

“ I don’t know that I thought anything about it,” 
he said miserably. 

“You don’t expect me to believe that, do you?” 
she asked, half smiling, “ not after the way that you 
acted that first evening ! Don’t you know that I saw 
that you were wild about me from the first instant. 
A woman always knows. And what I want to know 
is — does a man know too ? Or does the woman hide 
her heart better? Did you know that I was specially 
interested in you before I told you so? ” 

Upon this Jerry nearly fell out of his chair; his 
start of astonishment was so unfeigned that her hus- 
band started too, leading him to believe for one brief 
quarter of a second that his last hour was surely 
at hand. 

But she did not appear to notice either action. 

“ Do answer ? ” she pleaded. 

“ You should have been a lawyer,” he said, trying 
to breathe regularly. 

“ Oh, dear! ” she cried petulantly, “ that’s what 
they all say. Every time that a man falls in love 
with me I try to get him to tell me the true inward- 
ness of the masculine side — and he never will ! ” 

She paused for an instant and then hurried on : 

“ Just answer me one question, please ! After a 
man knows that a woman is interested in him, is she 
just as interesting to him as she was before he was 
sure of her regard? Do you want to be with me 
just as badly now as you did at first? Do tell me 
that.” 


196 


HER HUSBAND 


She looked at him, waiting. 

Her husband threw away his cigar, folded his 
arms, and — waited too. 

Jerry felt his shirt-collar melting (it wasn’t a 
warm day either). He threaded the cord to his 
monocle up and down through his fingers, re-crossed 
his legs, and coughed. 

“ Really,” he said at last, — “ really, you must 
believe me when I say that this is the first time that 
I ever posed as a psychological problem, and I don’t 
at all know how to play the part.” 

She looked disappointed. 

“ You won’t own up,” she said, shaking her head ; 
“ well, I’ve never yet found the man that would. 
They’re all alike, — men are, — and my husband is 
the only exception to the lot.” 

She rose as she spoke and, passing behind her 
husband, threw her arms about his neck and kissed 
him. 

“Oughtn’t you to go now?” she asked, looking 
over his head at the stunned, benumbed, and para- 
lyzed caller — “ it’s quite quarter of six, and we’ve 
all to dress before dinner.” 

Jerry arose with the promptitude of a steel spring 
just loosed in its coiling. 

“ I’m sorry not to have given satisfaction,” he 
said, “ but — really ” 

She extended her hand. 

“ I don’t bear you any ill-will,” she said, smiling. 

Her husband quitted his seat and gave the visitor 
another heart-crushing, muscle-rending hand-clasp. 

Then at last Jerry got out into the corridor and 
breathed again. 


HER HUSBAND 197 

Siddons found him packing when he came in to 
dinner. 

“ Going? ” he asked in astonishment. 

“ Business telegram,” Jerry explained briefly, 
throwing his tooth-brush in on top and banging the 
cover down. 

“ Then you didn’t get to the tea-party ? ” 

“ Yes, I did, too.” 

“ Was her husband there? ” 

“ Oh, yes, her husband was there.” 

“ Horrible about him, isn’t it ? ” 

“ What ? ” Jerry asked, turning sharply. 

“ Didn’t you know that he’s deaf and dumb ? ” 


JANE AND HER GENIUS 


TANE wrote! 

^ And that was not all. Jane had things ac- 
cepted. The next step beyond getting things ac- 
cepted is getting one’s self conceited, and Jane got 
that, too. 

By the time that she had had five manuscripts 
printed, and had deposited four of the cheques in the 
bank and bought a silk umbrella with the fifth, our 
heroine was housing her vivid imagination upon a 
private steam yacht and wintering long-dreamed-of 
Russian sables within a castle in Spain. 

It was odd — under such circumstances — that she 
should have felt that there was anything left for her 
to learn, but the fact that, although five manuscripts 
had been accepted, fifty-two others were still return- 
ing to her with a regularity as touching as it was 
faithful, did impress her with a slight feeling of un- 
easiness, and she decided that, upon her next visit 
to the city, she would call upon an editor and offer 
herself a sacrifice upon the altar of wisdom. 

To that end she wrote and asked a literary friend 
what editor, and the literary friend (who was young) 
procured her the promise of a personal interview 
with an editorial friend of his (who was young, too). 

Under these circumstances Jane came to town (to 


200 JANE AND HER GENIUS 

visit her aunt) and, taking a cab, went next to visit 
the editor. 

Although she came by appointment, she found the 
gentleman out by disappointment. So she had to 
wait. As she was naturally impatient, she found 
the waiting most trying to her nerves, and when she 
tried to beguile the weary hour by looking from the 
fifteenth floor window, the rural side of her nature 
turned deathly seasick and she found her situation 
worse than ever. 

So she sat down at his desk, rested her elbows 
thereupon and prepared to 

Just then the editor came in! He was a very 
good-looking and pleasant-smiling gentleman of 
three or four and thirty, and there was so little 
difference (outwardly) between himself and other 
men of the same age and looks that Jane gasped in 
surprise and started to her feet in the same key. 

“ Oh, pray be seated,” he said politely. 

So she sat down again and he drew up a chair and 
sat down, too. 

They looked at each other and both wondered how 
and where to begin. And then they did begin and 
kept it up for a long time. Jane expressed her great 
desire to know more, and as her face looked earnest 
and the editor was conscious of being the possessor 
of considerable good advice, he just opened the sluice- 
gates and poured forth instructive hints until she was 
saturated — not to say drowned — in liquefied 
knowledge. 

The result was fierce. Jane’s bosom heaved when 
the editor paused for breath — she thought that she 
was going to cry — but she didn’t. 


JANE AND HER GENIUS 201 

Instead, she rallied her failing forces and returned 
to a species of Balaklavan finalities. 

“ Tell me, please,” she asked, 44 I want to know 
about my own personal faults. Now, why, for in- 
stance, was 4 The Passing by of Timothy ’ refused? 99 

66 Because it didn’t adhere to the title,” answered 
the editor promptly. “ It was called 4 The Passing 
by of Timothy,’ and Timothy never passed by — he 
turned in at the gate. Don’t you remember? ” 

“ Oh ! ” said Jane. 44 Oh, yes, I — I — remem- 
ber.” There was a silence of a few seconds and then 
she said : 

“ But 4 Mrs. Tompkins’ Cake,’ — that adhered to 
the title.” 

“ Oh, yes, that adhered to the title,” said the editor, 
smiling, 44 but we are strenuously opposed to accept- 
ing anything with an unhappy ending, and 4 Mrs. 
Tompkins’ Cake ’ ended unhappily — the cake was 
eaten up. Don’t you remember ? ” 

44 Oh ! ” said Jane again. 44 Oh, yes, I remember.” 
Then there was another short pause. 

44 But 4 The Nail in Jonathan’s Shoe ’ ended hap- 
pily,” she said, at last, 44 and it adhered to the title, 

too, and yet ” She stopped and her stop was 

fraught with eloquence. 

44 Yes, that is all true,” acquiesced the editor, 44 and 
I am glad that you reminded me of that story, for 
I wanted to compliment you on it. I liked it im- 
mensely — I really did; I kept it four months, if 
you recollect, and the longer an editor keeps anything 
the more he thinks of the author’s work — always 
remember that.” 

44 But you returned it in the end,” Jane told him, 


202 


JANE AND HER GENIUS 


without looking as pleased as he had apparently ex- 
pected that she would. 

“ Because, my dear child, it referred to a class, 
and we have a rule against matter which may offend 
any class. Do you understand? ” 

“ No, I don’t.” 

“ I’ll explain. We have among our subscribers 
over seventy-five thousand shoemakers, and we could 
not possibly risk hurting their feelings by anything 
so sharp and so much to the point as ‘ The Nail in 
Jonathan’s Shoe.’ ” 

Jane sat and thought. 

There was another solemn silence. 

And then she rose slowly and heavily (although she 
was but nineteen years of age) ; the editor rose, too. 

“ Just a parting word,” he said, with his winning 
smile, “ you do write well for a beginner, and if you’ll 
keep a few points clear in your mind I believe that 
you’ll come on famously. Just remember that we 
don’t want anything that can offend any one, we 
don’t want anything that deals with any problem; 
we want love stories principally, and they must end 
happily. And, by the way, I nearly forgot to warn 
you off of one shoal that shipwrecks thousands. We 
only accept stories of 222 words, or the multiple ; it’s 
the length of one of our columns, and you would 
hardly believe me if I were to tell you how many good 
manuscripts we are obliged to refuse simply because 
they do not count up to the proper number of words. 
Furthermore, let me sum all else up by begging you 
to pay more attention to your corners and less to 
your contour — in other words, exert your own 
brains to the end that your readers need never exert 
theirs. That’s all.” 


JANE AND HER GENIUS 203 

It seemed to Jane to be quite sufficient. 

44 Thank you so very, very much,” she said, ear- 
nestly but feebly, and went away, forgetting her 
umbrella. 

Downstairs she felt faint and dizzy and battered, 
and took a cab home, intending to go to bed and 
cry. But the air did her good and her courage soon 
began to bubble and effervesce once more, because 
in Jane’s Pandora-box it was Courage that stayed 
behind when every other attribute saw fit to fly to 
heaven. 

By the time she had gotten home to her own 
ink-well she was full of a new inspiration, and 
as soon as her gloves were off she seized a pen and 
wrote a story on the following plan, the dashes be- 
ing erasures. 

44 The Nineteenth Century.” 

44 Eliza Whitby was dark complexioned and 

her eyes were gray and her eyelashes two-fifths 

of an inch long. Her nose was nothing either 

in or out of the ordinary, and her mouth was 

lovely. It was like Mona Lisa’s in the Louvre (copy 
in the Public Library). 

44 When Eliza boarded the Nineteenth Cen- 
tury Limited she had on a green skirt and one 

of those black silk jackets which people 

buy in small towns to wear in New York. Her 

hat was up in front, and down in the back, 

and her heels were not French . 

44 On that day’s Limited was a young man 

named Kenneth Kerr. He was tall, red- 

haired, freckled and had pale eyes. The kind 

of man who always has a good heart. The 


204 


JANE AND HER GENIUS 


kind of man that a girl in a black silk jacket 

is lucky to get . 

“ As I have hinted , here were two people 

fitted to make one another happy. 

“ The pity of the situation was that Eliza 

was on the Limited leaving New York while 

Kenneth was on that leaving Buffalo ! ! ! 

“When this fact has been fully assimilated, 

the reader must not feel bad, because Eliza and 

Kenneth were engaged anyhow. She merely hap- 
pened to be returning to town the same day that her 

fiance was called away on business of 

great importance.” 

“ There ! ” said Jane with pride, when she had 
completed this masterpiece by crossing out the num- 
ber of words necessary to its reduction to just the 
proper limits, “ I reckon that’s distinct and plain — 
and it ends happily, too.” 

She put it in an envelope and prepared to rush 
to the nearest post-box with it, but it was raining 
and she then discovered for the first time that she 
had left her umbrella with the editor. 

So it was necessary to enclose a personal note with 
the “ Nineteenth Century,” and they left together on 
the following day. 

The editor was delighted with — no, not the manu- 
script — but with the note, and something between 
the lines of the latter led him to return the umbrella 
personally. 

Afterwards he found other excuses to keep on 
calling until finally 

But there ! I nearly forgot that I have among my 
readers seventy-three editors and five thousand seven 
hundred and fifty Janes. 


BESSIE’S MOTHER 


S HE descended upon the platform and looked 
quickly about — smiling brightly and expect- 
antly. Then the smile died, for there was no smile 
to answer it. Bessie had not come to meet her mother. 

“To be sure ” — the mother told herself as she 
began to walk promptly towards the exit — “ of 
course a hundred things might have prevented her 
coming. And I wrote her particularly not to try to 

meet me. I know the address and ” 

“ Beg pardon, madame ; is this Mrs. Field ? ” 

The little mother looked up suddenly through the 

mist in her eyes she had known nothing of the mist 

until she tried to look up through it — and saw a 
huge and resplendent footman, his hand to his hat 
brim. 

“ Is this Mrs. Field? 99 the man asked again. 

“ I am Mrs. Field,” was the reply. 

“ Mrs. Langford’s carriage is waiting.” 

“ Is Mrs. Langford here? 99 
“ No, madame.” 

So Bessie’s mother went through the crowd to 
Bessie’s carriage and was shut up alone inside by 
Bessie’s footman and whirled away by Bessie’s hus- 
band’s pair of station cobs. 

It was a strange ride after the long, hard journey. 
The traveler was tired, and something within her 


206 


BESSIE’S MOTHER 


felt hurt and crushed. She tried to look out of the 
window and take an interest in the five-o’clock prob- 
lem of existence, but she saw only pale faces, weary 
faces, hungry faces, lame horses, thin, scared dogs, 
pitiful children. So strange for this to be Bessie’s 
carriage! So strange for her to be in it all alone! 
So strange 

The wheels suddenly shot off the cobblestones onto 
the smoothest asphalt, shot out from the din of 
trains above and trams and trucks to right and left, 
and into an altogether different world of glowing 
lights, gladness, and gracious glances from carriage 
to cafe windows. 

Bessie’s mother gasped afresh, knowing that this 
new world must be Bessie’s world, and wondering 
hurriedly if her weary dustiness really felt any more 
at home amidst brilliancy than it had amidst squalor. 

Click-clack-click-clack, sounded the horses’ feet, 
as their round trot swept the carriage on across 
squares that were really triangles and triangles that 
were really short cuts. Click-clack-click-clack — 
and so on up-town, past this brilliant house, and that 
gayly carpeted entrance, and then a row of windows 
all flower-decorated and with tables ready laid behind 
them each. 

And Bessie’s mother — feeling painfully outside 
of it all, and yet at the same time so very much in 
the middle of it — and Bessie’s mother trying to 
realize, and conscious only that every flash and gleam 
accentuated her own sensation of travel-dust and 
utter fatigue. 

Cl-clack — • clack — clack — ack — ack — halt ! 

The horses stopped. Two great iron-bound glass 


BESSIE’S MOTHER 207 

lanterns hung on either side of a sort of Renaissance 
portal. All around the portal arose the trailing 
tracery and carving of some piece of fantastic and 
incomprehensible architecture. 

The footman was down, and the carriage door was 
open. The mother stepped out ; her eyes hastily 
ran all over the stone front with its five tiers of cur- 
tained — and unresponsive — windows — and so, and 
so, and so this was Bessie’s home. 

She went up the two wide steps, the doors opened 
instantly before her ; she advanced into the brilliant 
hall — and there stood a gray-haired lady in an 
elaborate cap and elaborate courtesy. 

“Mrs. Field, ma’am?” the question was the ac- 
companiment to an interested smile. 

“ Oh, yes,” said the little mother, her eyes glancing 
everywhere but into the face before her. 

“ Mrs. Langford was obliged to go out, ma’am; 
she was very sorry. If I may show you to your 
rooms ? ” 

The mother was unable to answer ; she could only 
motion assent, and then follow as the other led the 
way to the lift beyond. 

They went up in the lift, and through its wrought- 
iron grills little glimpses of such beauty and luxury 
found their way that the traveler was yet more un- 
able to speak when she was finally led out into a 
circular hall and through a curtained arch into an 
elaborately furnished suite where a fire burned 
brightly, a teakettle boiled on its silver standard, 
and a bowl of flowers said the “ Welcome ” that had 
so far gone unvoiced. 

The housekeeper hesitated at the door; she was 


208 


BESSIE’S MOTHER 


one of those perfectly trained individuals who know 
just what they should do on all occasions. 

“ If you would like anything,” she said, pointing 
to the bell, “ will you ring, please? And Mrs. Lang- 
ford will come as soon as she returns.” 

The mother had sunk down in a chair. 

“ The children ? ” she questioned, faintly. 

“ They have gone to bed,” said the housekeeper. 

“ I almost wish I was gone to bed, too,” said the 
mother smiling a little ; “ very well ; thank you ; 
good night.” 

The housekeeper went out; a little noise in the 
next room announced the placing of luggage; and 
then all was still. 

Bessie’s mother rose and began to unfasten her 
dress; every bone in her body cried for rest from 
clothing, a warm bath, and a recumbent position, 

and yet something in her heart cried louder for 

Ah! 

It was Bessie. 

She had come in without knocking and stood still 
there in the archway smiling upon her mother. 

Such a daughter for any woman to own! 

Twenty-six years old, goddess-tall, angel-fair, 
gowned in velvet, diamonds about her throat and 
sparkling in the lace upon her bosom, a cloak of 
sweeping satin, sable-trimmed and silver-clasped — 
oh, such a vision of beauty and wealth combined! 

“ Oh, my darling ! ” 

It was almost a scream — and altogether a sob — 
as the mother ran to her child. 

The child shrank back — only a little, but very 
effectively. 


BESSIE’S MOTHER 


209 


“ Mother, mother — I’m so glad to see you, but 
— but you mustn’t weep on Paquin’s productions, you 
know ” — their hands and lips met — and then they 
were apart again. “ I was so sorry not to be able 
to come and meet you, but Edwards found you all 
right, didn’t he? ” 

“ Yes, certainly ” the mother had drawn back 

and Bessie had advanced to the teakettle and stood 
toying with the violets and so evidently thinking 
of something else that further words faded before 
her. 

“ Did you see the children ? ” 

“ They said that they had gone to bed.” 

“ So ? — too bad. But you’ll see them to-morrow.” 
She turned the kettle a trifle and then looked up. 
“ How tired you look, mother ! ” 

“ I am tired, dear.” Tears were terribly close. 

“ I don’t believe that you will mind a bit what I 
have come to tell you ; you really aren’t fit for any- 
thing but a quiet dinner and an early nap.” 

“ What is it? ” 

“ Why, Royal forgot about your coming and in- 
vited a lot of people for dinner down-town, and the 
opera later. You don’t mind, do you? ” 

“ No, indeed ! ” The tears were locked back at 
once. 

“ I must hurry to dress,” said Bessie, gathering 
her splendor about her, “ and I will order your dinner 
sent up — - and to-morrow we’ll have the whole day 
together.” 

The mother smiled. She couldn’t speak, but she 
could smile. 

“ Royal would have come up,” said the daughter, 


210 


BESSIE’S MOTHER 


pausing in the archway, “ but he has been motoring 
and has everything to change.” Her eyes brightened 
as she added, “ Wait until you see him to-morrow ! 
He’s ten times handsomer than he was ten years ago. 
And we’re as happy as ever, mother.” 

The mother awoke next morning about nine o’clock. 
The whole house was deathly still. She arose and 
dressed herself quickly. Then she rang. 

A maid answered with a dainty breakfast-tray, 
and when she had placed the tray on its little stand 
by the little sitting-room window she said, “ Miss 
Graves is to bring the children down if you wish, 
madame.” 

“Now?” asked the mother, joyfully, “can she 
come at once? ” 

“ I think so,” the servant answered, smiling. 

And five minutes later the three children and their 
English governess came in. 

They were sweet children, altogether too quiet and 
demure for ideal Young America. Roy, who was 
eight, shook hands with his grandmamma and suf- 
fered himself to be kissed ; little Betty did some kiss- 
ing, but it was of the mildest possible variety ; Bobby, 
the baby, stood and stared. Miss Graves said, firstly, 
that they never saw any company ; secondly, that she 
would not have troubled Mrs. Field except that Mr. 
Langford had bidden her and thirdly, that it was 
time for their drive before their lessons. 

So they all went away almost at once, and more 
absolute silence ensued. 

About noon the mother grew frightened. To be 
in Bessie’s house and to hear nothing — see nothing 


211 


BESSIE’S MOTHER 

— know nothing ! And for so many hours ! She did 
not know whether she was expected to leave her room 
or to keep it. If she left it she knew not where to 
go. It came over her suddenly that if she went out 
and moved about she would be embarrassed and con- 
fused at meeting one of the men or maids. 

Quarter to one! She rang the bell. A man an- 
swered. 

“ Is Mrs. Langford ill? ” 

66 No, ma’am. Mrs. Langford is asleep. When 
Mr. Langford went out he left particular orders not 
to disturb her.” 

The mother hardly knew what to say next. The 
man continued: 

“ Luncheon will be served in the breakfast room at 
half-past one.” 

Then he went away. 

At half-past one Bessie’s mother found her way 
somehow downstairs to the breakfast room, and ate 
her lunch in gloomy elegance. Afterwards she re- 
turned to her room. 

About three a maid — a new one — appeared. 

“ Mrs. Langford begs to know if you will come 
to her room, madame? ” 

The mother rose and followed the maid. 

Bessie’s room was a glory of blue silk, satin, velvet, 
enamel, and turquoises. Bessie herself was before 
a cheval glass whose two wings revolved on pivots 
in a manner at once preeminently distracting and 
revealing. A maid was doing her hair, and another 
was lacing her boots — fairy boots of woven silver 
thread, be it said en passant. 

“ Oh, mother, to think of all I meant to do with 


212 


BESSIE’S MOTHER 


you to-day, and instead I’ve slept until three o’clock, 
and now I’ve barely time to get dressed and go to 
the Bellevue reception. I feel dreadfully about it.” 

The mother sat down very quietly ; it had been a 
long day and she had thought a great deal. 

“ And that isn’t the worst of it,” Bessie continued, 
“ we are to dine there and go to the Pictures after- 
wards ; so I shall not see you again to-night.” 

The maid was offering a tray of ornaments to the 
hairdresser, and the latter was choosing fancy pins 
for Bessie’s hair. Bessie watched the choice with 
interest — she did not see her mother’s look. 

“I feel dreadfully,” she said again presently. 
“ You see, Royal and I are so rushed. I do believe 
we’re almost the most popular young couple in town. 
And we’re so happy ! — I’m so happy, mother.” 

“ I’m so very glad of that,” said the mother, and 
her tone was beautifully sincere. 

Bessie turned her head to study the effect of the 
jeweled comb in her coiffure; when her eyes were 
satisfied she said with the quick catching after words 
of one who has forgotten to reply, “Yes; — oh, 
yes,” and then she rose. The maid brought her dress 
towards her and as she entered its folds they rustled 
and rang and scintillated, so stiff was the silk, so 
thick the pendent pearl embroidery, so bright the 
silver trimmings. 

The mother sat and watched. 

“You’ve seen the children?” Bessie asked pres- 
ently. 

“ For just a minute this morning.” 

“ Miss Graves is so strict. Have you been out at 
all? ” 

The mother smiled. 


213 


BESSIE’S MOTHER 

u No, I was so tired — I needed rest most.” 

The maid was shaking out the dress folds ; Bessie 
laughed a little quick laugh of relief. 

“ Of course — how stupid of me not to remember 
how journeys always use you up ! I expect the quiet 
has been the very best thing for you.” 

The second maid was bringing a cloak of white 
broadcloth. 

“ Ah, that means time to go,” said the daughter. 
“ I’ll have to leave you again now, mother dear, but 
to-morrow we shall certainly begin our visit.” 

She kissed her mother and went hastily out, leav- 
ing her sitting there amidst the blue of that bluest 
boudoir. 

The next morning the mother had reconciled her- 
self to the situation, had taken the coffee, roll and 
fruit at nine in place of the substantial meal that 
she was accustomed to at eight, and had sat down 
with some sewing afterwards. 

She hummed a little song as she sewed, a song that 
had floated over Bessie’s cradle in bygone years, and 
as she sang she thought of what a darling baby the 
cradle had held, of what a sweet, rosy child it had 
yielded up to the larger crib, and of what a rarely 
lovely girl of sixteen had been the result, a girl so 
rarely lovely that a young man speeding his motoT 
by their gate had looked within — and never known 
peace after until the girl was his own. Well, Royal 
Langford was a splendid fellow — and they had been 
very happy 

And Bessie’s mother sang softly but cheerfully to 
herself as she sat alone and thought about it all. 


214 


BESSIE’S MOTHER 


The house was still — it was always very still — 
only the chiming of the different clocks occasionally 
broke the hush. The children lived in another part 

— the servants wore felt soles — and Bessie was 
asleep. The night before had ended very, very late 

— I mean, very, very early. There had been laugh- 
ter, voices, and the jingle and rattle of silver and 
crystal below, at an hour so close to dawn that the 
mother above started up out of her sleep, and then 
lay down again realizing — well — just realizing. 
That was enough. 

“ Mother!” 

It was Bessie’s voice ; it was Bessie standing again 
in the archway — this time with her eyes big and 
bright, her cheeks scarlet, her hair flowing loose over 
a negligee of silk striped with lacy ladderings. 

The mother sprang up — her work falling for- 
gotten to the floor. 

“My child!” 

Bessie came a little ways into the room and stopped 
where she could lean against a chair. 

“ Mother, I’m afraid that I am going to be ill — - 
I feel so terribly strangely,” the tone was almost a 
wail. 

The mother was beside her, touching her hand. 
Her hand was limp — and cold. 

“ Lie down on my bed,” she cried quickly. The 
second after, Bessie fell fainting among the pillows. 

The mother ran to the bell and rang it loudly, 
then she sought her own little medicine-case and its 
restorative bottles — and by the time the maid ar- 
rived she had the messages worded for telephoning. 

“ Mr. Langford and the doctor — at once.” 


BESSIE’S MOTHER 


215 


Royal was easily secured, for he was still asleep in 
his room. In five minutes he appeared and remem- 
bered only in a most perfunctory manner that he had 
not seen his mother-in-law before, in the two days 
that she had dwelt beneath his roof. For Royal 
Langford loved his wife passionately, and the mere 
idea of her illness drove his mother-in-law back into 
the rear corners of his brain. 

“ My God, what has happened ? ” he exclaimed, 
going to the bedside and flinging himself down there. 
“ What is the matter — she is always so well ? ” 

“ Perhaps it is nothing,” said the mother, chafing 
the cold hand nearest her — “ but — but send for 
the doctor.” 

“ Doctor! ” Royal’s great black eyes were fairly 
devouring his wife’s unconscious face — “ Fifty doc- 
tors ! A thousand ! — but — oh, Bessie, Bessie ! ” 

The mother’s hand touched his shoulder — sym- 
pathy was in the pressure — and affection — was not 
Bessie his, too? 

“Can’t you carry her to her own room?” she 
asked. 

“ Wouldn’t she better stay here? ” 

“ But — but can she stay here ? ” the mother 
glanced around the diminutive chamber — its con- 
trast to the blue throne-room below was marked in- 
deed — but Royal understood nothing of her 
thoughts. 

“ Wait until Edmoor has seen her,” he said, never 
lifting his eyes from Bessie’s face — “we’ll do what 
he says — Great Heavens ! — — if he says she’s really 
— really — seriously ill ! — ” 

The mother’s heart was hideously heavy. She 


216 


BESSIE’S MOTHER 


went over by the window a moment and steadied her 
lips ; when she came back Bessie’s eyes were open — 
but saw nothing. 

Royal — his heavy dressing gown spreading al- 
most like a pall over both — was bowed above his 
wife, kissing her, and bidding her speak to him. 

“ She doesn’t hear you,” said the mother, kneeling 
close by them both — “ my poor boy ! ” her tone was 
gentle — not at all as if her distress was crying also, 
“ be patient ; the doctor will soon be here.” 

The doctor did come soon — as soon as the tele- 
phone reached him. He was not an old man, and was 
a very large and handsome one. He looked at Bes- 
sie’s mother — at Royal — and then at Bessie. 

He ordered her carried downstairs to her own 
room. 

And then he ordered more. He took the mother 
downstairs into the library, and, shutting Royal and 
all the world outside, talked long and earnestly. 

The little mother opened her lips — her lips that 
had been closed but never sealed — and told the 
doctor what had come to her in these few lonely, 
bewildering hours. 

He nodded — he understood. 

It was the Price — the Price one pays when one 
has gone the Pace that Kills; and the lovely young 
butterfly must fold her brilliant wings and pay it out 
to the last ounce of diamonded debt. 

And no man could say where the end would be. 

Then came long weeks — long, long, long weeks. 

The doctor came and came, the mother watched 
and watched, and time dragged its comfortless pass- 


217 


BESSIE’S MOTHER 

ing and kept the future for a hideous riddle whose 
answer was unknown. 

Then — finally — there came a night when Bessie 
seemed to draw her breath as one who yet will live. 
The doctor took the mother downstairs and gave her 
the first real hope that he had dared to counsel. She 
went back to the bedside above and prayed, and 
towards midnight the sick woman looked straight up 
into the eyes bent above her. 

“Mamma!” she murmured faintly, and at the 
childhood name the mother’s heart swelled nigh to 
bursting. “ Mamma, where’s Royal ? ” 

(Oh, mother-hearts — the burden of your bearing! 

— The first cry after all those weeks and then it was 
for some one else!) 

“ He is here,” said the mother • — and called him 

— and then stepped back into the shadow as he took 
his wife in his arms. For a long minute Bessie clung 
close to her husband and then the leaven — the new 
spirit that was striving towards birth — led her to 
cry: 

“ But mamma, Royal ? Where did mamma go ? ” 
The mother came back then and her face was laid 
against the sick girl’s trembling lips. . . . 

And the next day there was a relapse and things 
were infinitely worse again. 

The mother — who had seen the new-born hope 

— and had understood — was f reshly tireless now. 

“ Your wife’s mother will be ill next,” said the 
doctor to Royal one afternoon. The doctor — in 
his long term of two visits a day — and his supple- 
mental library consultations, had come to be more of 
a family friend than ever. 


218 


BESSIE’S MOTHER 


Royal was gnawing his mustache in misery over 
the danger of the one who was dearest, and only 
nodded. He could not compass further fears than 
those he was lavishing on the wife he so adored. 

There was another period of desperation, and then 
one afternoon Bessie came to consciousness again. 

“ Oh, mamma,” she gasped, painfully, “ must I 
die? I don’t want to die.” 

Her mother held her hand — and smiled, yes, 
actually smiled. Hope was in the smile — but hope 
was dumb. 

“ I don’t want to leave Royal,” said the younger 
woman — “ nor my babies ” — and then, like a 
strange, ghostly cloud, the veil rent itself and showed 
the light beyond and Bessie stretched out her 
hand weakly and added — " nor you, mamma — nor 
you.” 

With the words the barrier broke, and the daugh- 
ter was in her mother’s arms — a child again. The 
mother soothed her to her bosom and spoke no word. 
What word was there to speak? Royal came in and 
saw them thus together, and went quietly out. And 
Bessie slept with her head on her mother’s heart as 
in her baby ways and days. 

The doctor, coming in, would not disturb them, 
but stood and looked from the shadowy doorway for 
a long time. Downstairs he said to Royal: 

“ The danger is over now. Mrs. Langford owes 
her life to her mother.” 

“ And to you,” said the husband, whose joy was 
inexpressible. 

“ Oh, as to that ” Edmoor simply shrugged 

his broad shoulders. He knew how much care meant 


BESSIE’S MOTHER 219 

and how much medicine meant. Perhaps he knew 
even better yet what Bessie’s mother meant. 

When Christmas came, Bessie was able to be 
propped up by pillows and receive a diamond neck- 
lace and a cheque from her husband as a token of 
appreciation of the kindness she had shown him in 
living. 

And then the children, who had not seen their 
mother in months, were admitted to the room, and 
stood, three in a row, at the foot of the bed, and re- 
garded her with curiosity. 

“ I know all my ’rithmetic tables now,” Roy 
hazarded at last ; “ grandma made me learn ’em all.” 

“ An’ I can sew,” said little Betty. “ I have sewed 
you a sachet to smell of — see ! ” she held it up as 
she spoke. Bessie’s eyes wandered to her mother. 

“ Did you teach her? ” they asked. The mother 
nodded. 

“ You could sew when you were six,” she said, 
“ why not Betty ? ” 

“ An’ we turn in the big room an’ see papa ev’y 
night,” said Bob, “ an’ we say prayers, too — we 
say ’em to God an’ grandma.” 

Bessie’s look went slowly back and forth between 
them. 

“ An’ we have stories an’ go-to-bed songs,” Bob 
added, “ an’ we go to grandma ’stead of Katie when 
Miss Graves goes out.” 

But Bessie’s cheeks were flushing, and the little 
ones were taken back to their Christmas tree and 
fairyland of toys. 

“ I hope I haven’t interfered,” the mother said 
rather timidly after a little ; “ the time has been so 


220 


BESSIE’S MOTHER 


long for them as well as for us. And I only tried 
to fill your place as well as I could.” 

“ Interfered! ” Bessie’s tone was a struggle; and 
then at last she said, “ Mamma, come to me ” — 
and then, when her mother had come — “I almost 
wish I’d died,” said the invalid, “ it — it — seems as 
if you do everything so much better.” 

The mother-arms enfolded her — enfolded a new 
daughter who was learning a new motherhood and 
whom God was blessing thrice in the learning. 

The long months of a winter convalescence rolled 
smoothly by, while Bessie rested pale and lovely 
among her cushions, and her mother sewed on dainty 
muslins and laces and silks near by. 

“ I’m glad you are teaching Betty to sew,” said 
the daughter one day. “ You sew so beautifully 
yourself. It will be nice for her to know when she 
gets old, too.” 

“ Yes, I think so,” said the mother, smiling. 

“ And I want Betty to be just like you, mamma,” 
said the younger woman, wistfully, “ so dear and 
sweet in her home. I don’t care so much about the 
rest of the world as I did.” 

The mother smiled gently. 

The doctor and Royal came in a little later, and 
had some tea and approved the invalid’s progress 
and laughed and chatted and then went out together. 

“ Mamma,” said Bessie, when they were alone 
again, “ the doctor said you saved my life. Do you 
know what I thought when Royal told me that ? ” 

“ No,” said the mother, rolling an edge and look- 
ing interested, “what did you think, dear?” 


BESSIE’S MOTHER 


221 


“ I thought,” said Bessie, slowly, 44 how terrible 
it would have been if I died — if I had died — with- 
out your ever ” she hesitated and stopped. Her 

mother looked up and their eyes met. 

44 We were very selfishly thoughtless — Royal and 
I,” said Bessie, her own eyes filling — 44 selfishly 
thoughtless of every one except each other ” 

The mother interrupted her by coming quickly 
beside her and laying her fingers on her lips. 

44 Bessie,” she said, earnestly, 44 it was all right — 
I can forget it all — because — because — you were 
all in all to one another. That is such a beautiful 

and blessed thing ” she paused, and her lips 

pressed her daughter’s. 

44 Mamma,” the latter whispered, 44 1 want to tell 
you something. Royal and I have been talking — 
and we — we don’t want you to go away again. We 
want you to stay here.” 

44 Yes, that we do,” exclaimed a voice behind 
them. 

The mother drew away and turned to see her son- 
in-law smiling on her. 

44 You will have to,” said Bessie, 44 we can’t any 
of us ever spare you again.” 

The mother looked at her and then at Royal. 
Something in his face led her hastily to gather up 
her work and set a few stitches in hasty confusion. 

Bessie was smiling from her pillows. Her husband 
sat down beside her and took her hand. 

44 Persuade her, Royal,” she said. 

Royal stared steadily at his mother-in-law and 
watched her slightly troubled face. 

44 We certainly can’t spare you,” he said. 44 Ed- 


222 


BESSIE’S MOTHER 


moor and I were discussing the subject just now. He 
feels even more strongly than we do,” and then he 
smiled broadly. 

The little mother looked helplessly at him, and 
then helplessly down at her work again. 

“ Why, mamma,” Bessie cried suddenly, “ aren’t 
you blushing? ” 

“ I’m afraid I am,” confessed the culprit, miser- 
ably. “ I shouldn’t be surprised at anything I did. 

I feel so foolish to act so, but — but ” she 

folded her hands on her sewing and tried to look 
firm. 

“ Of course she is,” said Royal, delightedly. 
“ Bessie, you don’t know your own mother, yet. She 
has been flirting with the doctor, and now she is 
engaged to him and going to be as rich and as 
fashionable as yourself. He has just told me, and 
begged me to tell you, as it appears that she cannot 
make up her mind to tell any one herself.” 

Bessie’s eyes became startlingly round. 

“ Mamma ! ” she cried, “ is it really so ? ” 

The little mother just nodded her head. Bessie 
gasped. 

“ Why, how old are you ? ” she asked, blankly. 

“ I’m forty-three,” said the mother, whose waist 
was as tiny and whose hair was as brown as Bessie’s 
own. 

Bessie turned to her husband. Her face was a 
study of conflicting sentiments, but after a little, 
one got the better of all the rest. 

“ Royal,” she said, half appalled and half appeal- 
ing, “ why, she isn’t old at all! ” 

Royal laughed outright. 


BESSIE’S MOTHER 223 

“ It certainly looks as if she was terribly young, 
doesn’t it ? ” he cried. 

“ Mamma ” Bessie began. 

But the mother had gone away 

Not upstairs — but down to the library. 







WILFRED AND HIS GRAND- 
MOTHER 


I NEVER shall forget my first sight of Wilfred 
and his grandmother. 

It was on the beach of Rocabey and the tide was 
out — away, ’way out. That wonderful mile of won- 
derful sand was covered with people walking, riding, 
bicycling, and just in front of where I had paused, 
men playing polo. A steamer was putting out for 
Jersey beyond, the walls and chimneys of St. Malo 
stood out clear against the western sky, and to my 
right the long horn of the diked bank curved slowly 
east and north and so on out of sight. 

My eyes wandering idly here and there over sun- 
set, polo ponies, and the miscellaneous crowd, were 
suddenly and irresistibly attracted towards a small 
boy and an old lady who emerged therefrom and 
came leisurely along towards me. Never shall I for- 
get my first impression of the pair nor my intense 
momentary interest even though I saw them but for 
a few seconds and never expected to see them again. 

Wilfred was about eight years old. He was clad 
in what must have been immaculate white within an 
hour’s time, and he bore his hat in his hand. The 
hat was a large straw with wide, white silk ribbons 
and the ribbons trailed on the wet sand so that they 
were muddy and draggled beyond description. The 


226 WILFRED AND HIS GRANDMOTHER 


edge of the brim was also muddy and that portion 
of Wilfred which in moments of complete relaxation 
would naturally come in contact with Mother Earth 
had evidently been sat upon freely and without 
thought until the white suit was what nursery maids 
call a “ sight ! ” 

Wilfred’s grandmother might have been expected 
to have appeared distressed under these circum- 
stances but Wilfred’s grandmother, even at that first 
glance, struck me as a thing apart, most utterly 
apart. She was perhaps sixty and most pleasant 
and placid to behold. She had her bonnet slightly 
over one ear and her right hand trailed her parasol 
behind her, while her left made hardly any pretense 
towards holding up her silk and flowing dress from 
off the sand. Her gaze, like Wilfred’s, was directed 
towards the polo playing, and whether she acciden- 
tally trod on his hat ribbons, or whether he acci- 
dentally fell over her parasol, neither ever for a 
second ceased to gaze on with the same delicious 
absent-mindedness, the same happy-go-luckyness. 

And so wandering, they wandered on and on down 
towards St. Malo, and I, watching them out of sight, 
watched and wondered myself, and then forgot them 
for twelve years’ time. 

Our next rencontre was at Oxford whither I had 
gone to witness a nephew row in the Eights. The 
first division was over and my party were being lei- 
surely poled towards the Haven of Tea when my 
attention was suddenly attracted by an approach- 
ing punt which bore a most uncommon couple. The 
lady was all of seventy, and so stout that the other 


WILFRED AND HIS GRANDMOTHER 227 

end of the punt kept lifting itself out of the water 
like the nose of some inquiring fish. She wore a large 
shade hat, and it had been tipped this way and that 
way for comfort until its dip could be determined 
only on the basis of some undiscovered mathematical 
computation. She had a large cushion at her back 
and one of its ruffles was in the water; also some 
inadvertent paddles had splashed her pretty freely in 
a way that the sun had not dried up. But all these 
minor details went for naught when one caught a 
glimpse of her face. Heavens, what a smile of utter 
beatitude was there! She was contemplating her 
companion who was paddling — twenty and hand- 
some. He was paddling the very slowest way that 
one could paddle; he was sitting on a cushion that 
also trailed in the water; he had an unlit cigarette 
in his mouth ; but in spite of the gap made by twelve 
years’ travel, I recognized Wilfred at once. 

And now I took the time to learn about them. 

It wasn’t a very remarkable story. It seemed that 
the boy had been practically born an orphan and that 
he and his grandmother had early developed a com- 
plete congeniality. Money being plentiful they had 
traveled all his life and as the years passed their 
tastes had never learned to differ. 

And after that we drifted apart for eight years 
more. 

The eight years brought me the guardianship of 
the most delightfully bright and energetic little 
maiden whom it has ever been my lot to meet. Raised 
by a strict mother and educated by the clock, so to 
speak, this dear, pretty Bettina had never known the 


228 WILFRED AND HIS GRANDMOTHER 

joy of idleness or the idleness of joy until one winter 
a slight cough drove her to Cairo and my protection. 
Soon after her arrival I was called to London on 
business and my little ward had to be turned over 
for the intervening period to a very interesting Eng- 
lishwoman who happened to be living there just at 
that time. 

I was gone four months, and when I started back 
Bettina met me in Paris. She was not alone ; she had 
with her Wilfred and his grandmother! 

“ But, Bettina ! ” I cried aghast. 

“ Now, uncle,” she said, laying her cheek against 
mine, “ don’t. Now, please don’t. Even if you want 
to say things you mustn’t, because I love Wilfred and 
I shall hate you.” 

This logic staggered me to silence. 

“ You see,” Bettina continued, “ you are so like 
mamma that you can’t possibly understand Wilfred 
or his grandmother. They’re so lovely; they’re 
so calm ; they’re so restful. I’ve been so hustled and 
bustled all my life that it’s like heaven to be with 
people that are so sweet and peaceful. They don’t 
eat breakfast till four o’clock sometimes, and Wil- 
fred says he never yet has gotten up or gone to 
bed until he felt just exactly like it. When they 
lose things they never hunt; they just buy more, 
and Wilfred says he doesn’t know what worry 
means. It’s Paradise on earth, that’s what it is, 
and whatever you say, we are going to be married 
in June. If you want to be horrid and not give 
me my money Wilfred’s grandmother says I can 
just go around Paris and pick out what I fancy 
and send her the bills; and Wilfred says, if it’s 


WILFRED AND HIS GRANDMOTHER 229 

too hot to bother with picking out, to have a few 
trousseaux sent to the hotel and give the chamber- 
maids what don’t suit me. So there ! ” 

Bettina paused, quite out of breath, and I tried 
to collect my thoroughly scattered wits. 

“ Wilfred says he doesn’t care a damn what I 
spend,” Wilfred’s fiancee added after a minute. 

“ Did he say that? ” I asked. 

66 Yes, and his grandmother apologized.” 

“ My dear,” I said, “ that alters everything. I 
didn’t suppose Wilfred had anything so energetic 
as that word to his name. If he has, it proves much, 
and I — ” 

“ Yes — ” Bettina inquired anxiously, as I paused. 

“ I give my consent.” 

“ Oh, uncle ! ” 

Then she hugged me ecstatically and dragged me 
away forthwith to call on Wilfred’s grandmother. 

Do you know, Wilfred’s grandmother and I be- 
came then and there the best of friends. 

It was half past twelve and she was eating break- 
fast, it being one of their early rising days, and Wil- 
fred was out in his motor looking at another motor, 
so we were quite cosy and informal. 

I found that Bettina would be loved, petted, and 
cared for to the limit, and I went away to cable her 
mother with a well content heart. 

They were married in Paris in June and went to 
Norway in a chartered yacht taking the grand- 
mother with them. 

That was four years ago. Now come here to the 
window and look over towards the Pilatus side of the 
garden. We have this villa for the summer, so that 


230 WILFRED AND HIS GRANDMOTHER 

the baby Bettina, who was unduly energetic and 
screaming in London may grow calm by the Lac des 
Quatre Cantons. Do you see down there by the ar- 
bor, those two coming this way? It is Wilfred No. 
2 and his great-grandmother. He is dragging his 
horse upside down; he is very placid, is Wilfred 
No. 2. And the grandmother, God bless her, is more 
beatific and smiling than ever. 

And I am not ashamed to confess that I have 
learned to drag my cane instead of swinging it. 
Whether it is old age or force of example I cannot 
say, but I find it most reposeful to the nerves, and 
I am going to set down in black and white, right 
here and now, that in these days of hustle and bustle 
I have learned, with my dear little niece, to find 
thorough joy and peace in life with Wilfred and his 
grandmother. 


THE CRADLE 


H E was sitting at one of the tiny tables in the 
Ritz, just because he had been 66 over ” long 
enough to have acquired the tea-habit, and to be 
beset with a thirst that only tea would satisfy as soon 
as “ feef o’clock ” came to time each day. Sometimes 
he fulfilled his craving in the Bois, or at the Palais, 
or in one of the many private salons where he was 
persona grata , but when he was near he liked the 
Ritz — because — because — oh, because the Ritz is 
the Ritz and has an atmosphere apart and individual. 

The afternoon was fine and the tables were all full; 
a constant succession of visitors moved in and out, 
and a constant (in another sense of the word) suc- 
cession of other visitors sat and watched them. It 
amused the man already mentioned to watch these 
watchers — the ones whose enjoyment consisted in 
contemplating the enjoyment of others, — the little 
groups who choked down their tea between absorbed 
on-looking, — the people who came there not to sat- 
isfy any need except that of their curiosity. 

There were many such in the room and his eyes 
roamed meditatively over them all until — having 
completed the circuit and encompassed the whole 
crowd — they came back to the starting point and 
saw that the starting point had altered during their 


232 


THE CRADLE 


tour. The two regally blonde French women who 
had been there a minute ago were gone, and in their 
stead sat a diminutive creature with an elderly lady 
— the one in gray, the other in black. 

The tiny one was daintily tiny, fairy-like in the 
extreme. She was exquisitely gowned and her attire 
was so perfect in its simplicity and so devoid of any 
species of ornament that an American or English 
woman would never have given her a second glance, 
while a Continental would have suspected and lor- 
gnetted an empress incognita. She had on a gray 
hat with little soft gray silk roses tucked beneath its 
brim, a gray jacket with gray lace (gray lace costs, 
let me tell you) imbedded in its yoke and cuffs, a 
princesse gown of tucks so finely laid as to hair-line 
the cloth, gray bottines , and a bit of gray silk stock- 
ing showed where her foot advanced beneath the table. 

The man across the way could not but admire, and 
continue to admire. She was talking with her com- 
panion — a conversation devoid of animation, but 
evidently pleasant and interesting. Only once did 
she turn her head at all ; — and then a flash of re- 
membrance shot full in his face — ! 

It was the little girl who married Dick Bentley the 
autumn before he died, — the little girl who came 
from San Francisco all alone to marry him when the 
doctors said that he could not go to her ! 

Six years ago — that was ! 

He was getting up and dragging his chair across 
towards her. He did not seem to remember the 
usages of society in that minute — he remembered 
only the wonderful sweetness and courage that the 
wee little thing had shown at that long-ago wedding, 


THE CRADLE 233 

when she had taken the vow to be a widow at once 
with the vow to be a wife. 

“You remember me? — Davis, you know! I was 
at your — at Dick’s — ” he stopped short, but her 
hand was put forth and her eyes (gray, too) were 
smiling. 

“ Yes, of course. How pleasant to see you here.” 

There was something unutterably quiet yet sincere 
in her voice. He sat down. 

“ You are staying in Paris? ” he said. 

“For a few days, yes; we leave to-morrow night, 
however.” 

“ And I, to-morrow noon.” 

“ The Riviera? — the Channel-train? ” she asked. 

“ The Channel-train.” 

“ Ah ! ” there was no fluttering interest in her 
manner — only a sweet cordiality. She did not look 
at him, but at her tea-cup. He was full of desire to 
know of her, nevertheless. 

“ You are traveling? ” 

“ I think I may call it that. We stay a few weeks 
in one place and then in another.” 

“ Always ? ” 

“ I have no home. I was an orphan, you know. I 
can’t remember either my father or my mother; and 
there came no child to me.” Suddenly, there in the 
midst of the five-o’clock Ritz, her face went down in 
her hands; across her bowed head the elderly lady 
threw a meaning glance at Davis, who was fearfully 
shocked at the sudden emotion betrayed by one so 
full of self-control. 

But the next instant she was smiling through a 
mist (also gray) and saying — 


234 


THE CRADLE 


44 Oh, we like to roam about, madame and I. And 
we amuse ourselves as we go, riest-ce pas, madame? ” 

The elderly lady smiled. Affection and deep sym- 
pathy both were manifested in her face. 

44 And so you go to-morrow,” the girl went on — 
a little uncertainly ; 44 if it was not that we go, too, 
I should ask you to call ; but as it is — ” she made 
a significant gesture. 

44 But I wish that I could come,” said the man 
hurriedly ; 44 1 do wish I could come. Can’t I come 
to-morrow morning — just for a few minutes?” 
His tone was very earnest and pleading. 

44 But I am going shopping to-morrow morning,” 
she said, 44 and it is something that I cannot put off.” 

44 But I can go, too,” he declared eagerly. 
44 Haven’t you seen how the men here go shopping 
with the women? Let me go with you to-morrow.” 

She looked at him and he saw a strange sort of 
conflict in her face, and then she blushed. Anything 
more heart-storming than that blush was never seen 
before. 44 Oh, let me go with you ! ” he all but 
begged. It seemed to him that he had never in all 
his life wanted permission to do anything so much 
as he wanted hers to accompany her on that “ tour de 
commission” 

She played with her teaspoon a long minute and 
then she said, 44 Very well, come then. I am at the Ho- 
tel de Bade, and I will be ready at half-after nine.” 

He was exact to the minute on the following morn- 
ing and she was, too. She came down directly his 
card went up, and again her gown was gray and as 
simple as befitted early morning. 


THE CRADLE 


235 


“ This is really very nice of you,” she said as they 
went out to the cab, 44 but I’m afraid you’ll be bored 

— men at home do not interest themselves in these 
expeditions generally.” 

She smiled. 

“ What are we going to buy — if I may ask?” 
he said, as the cab rolled away. 

“We are going to buy a cradle,” she said. 

“A cradle ! ” 

44 Yes, a cradle. I have a little friend here in Paris 
whom the world has made poor, but whom Heaven is 
making rich — and I have promised her a cradle. 
You see the world has made me rich and Heaven has 
left me poor, so the best pleasure life gives me is 
when I can balance the load a little for someone else.” 
Her great eyes turned towards him and something 
rose oddly in his throat, so that he could not possibly 
speak to her. 

44 1 take a great deal of pleasure helping people,” 
she said, 44 and madame is lovely about helping me to 
help them. Places where I cannot go, she goes, so 
we can know every person and know just what they 
need. I have a bed in ever so many hospitals and a 
long list of dear sick or unhappy people in almost 
every place we stay. It keeps me from thinking of 
my own life — it teaches me that sorrow is not mine 
alone.” 

She paused for a minute and then went on in a 
brighter tone, 44 But the cradle is not exactly charity. 
You see, they ran away — Sophie and her lieutenant 

— and were married, and the parents declare they 
will not forgive them — but, of course, they will. 
They have a cunning apartment and a bonne and 


236 


THE CRADLE 


tout cela, only poor Sophie feels it is almost scan- 
dalous that she cannot have real lace on every little 
thing she is making, and so I have promised that the 
cradle at least shall be suitable for one whose grand- 
papas are a baron and a general.” 

He found himself still unable to articulate. 

“You won’t mind?” she went on, a shadow of 
anxiety darkening her voice ; “ you know you said 
yesterday that men went shopping often. I’ve seen 
them every day, and I think it is very sweet to see. 
At Madame Jeanne’s yesterday I saw a very great 
man indeed, choosing his wife’s hats, and I admired 
him all the more for it. I like the way they both 
work together here; the little time that Dick was 
spared me we never went one single place apart ; we 
used to laugh when he bought cigars with me and I 
hair-pins with him.” 

The cab was crossing the Pont Neuf and beginning 
its struggle for existence in the Quartier Latin. 

“ I assure you,” he said, “ so far from minding, I 
feel deeply honored. I — I’m very glad I took tea 
at the Ritz yesterday.” 

She gave him a glance so devoid of anything but 
gratitude that an echo of the swallowed choke came 
back — and just then the cab stopped. 

They alighted. 

It was a big and brilliant store and the windows 
were full of cradles containing happy waxen babies. 

They went in. 

Instantly a clerk was before them — smiling, 
bowing, deeply concerned for their welfare. 

“ A cradle, a ‘ completely furnished ’ cradle.” 

Ah, on the second floor — all — everything would 


THE CRADLE 


237 


be found there. Monsieur would see, madame would 
view — a moment till the lift descends ! Voila! take 
care of the crack in entering! — Cradles — furnish- 
ing — second floor ! 

The elevator took them up and as they quitted it 
he had to notice the lovely heightened interest in her 
face. She looked up and down the vista of little 
beds and said softly, “ Just to think that a baby will 
come to claim every one of them — ” 

But another clerk was before them — another of 
those perfect beings whom all the shopping public 
of the wide world may well envy Paris — and a very 
few other cities. 

“A cradle! at about what price? — this way, I 
beg.” They went around to the other side and there 
stood twenty in a row — all different — each ex- 
quisite — some in enamel, some in carved wood, some 
in gilt or in silver, some made of great silken ropes 
interwoven, some made of twisted bamboo. 

He could only watch her face as she moved up and 
down the line, touching them with her gloved finger- 
tips — the touch as tender as the expression on her 
face. 

The clerk was not voluble, — he was silent, he saw 
the sale was made beforehand. He answered questions 
and sometimes he looked at Davis. Davis hardly 
knew what to do with the look; he felt it would be 
thieving to accept, and yet it was too overwhelmingly 
delightful to refuse. 

She stopped at last before one that outshone all 
the rest. Two great storks carved in dark wood held, 
hung between them, a basket of woven silver. 

“ Do you think it is too much? ” she asked Da- 


238 


THE CRADLE 


vis, with an irresistible appeal in her tone and eyes. 

The clerk did not even trouble to raise his eyes — 
he thought he knew — (and he did). 

“ No, no indeed ! ” came the answer. 

She flashed one look of radiant joy over the two 
men and the cradle. 

“ And now the furnishings,” she said, breathlessly. 

As they moved away she slipped her porte-monnaie 
into her companion’s hand. “ You can pay it all,” 
she whispered. He nodded. 

They sat down before a great table upon which 
were displayed samples of blankets, coverlets, wee 
tucked pillow-slips, lace-edged spreads and so forth. 

“ You’re not bored? ” she said to him — her eyes 
and cheeks and lips still overspread with the wonder- 
ful tender charm — “ you’re sure? 99 

“ Bored! ” he ejaculated. And then he was silent 
and watched her. 

The clerk brought out great rolls of carefully 
corded-up treasures, and she bent above them and 
reveled in them and chose from among them. 

“ Do you think I am foolish? ” she asked him just 
once, when a little down quilt with a wreath of hand- 
embroidered roses was under consideration. 

“ I think you are an angel ! ” he answered. 

She laughed a little soft laugh and took the quilt. 

Finally it was all over. She gave the address: 
“ Mme. Leon de Gourville, 11 bis. Passage de la Visi- 
tation,” and he drew out his purse. 

“ Oh, that is the wrong purse,” she reminded him 
quickly. 

“ Sh — later,” he said with authority. They 
brought him the change from his two thousand-franc 


THE CRADLE 239 

notes, and then the clerk ushered them back to the 
elevator and wished them aw revoir. 

When they reached the door below it was raining; 
the cabman had raised the hood, and stood ready to 
tuck them in behind its apron. 

“ I have been very happy,” she said, when they 
were moving again ; “ it was kind of you to be so 
patient.” 

“ But I was happy, too,” he declared. 

“ What a strange thing a woman is,” she went on ; 
“ we are no better than children after all. Do you 
know my pleasure this morning was hundred-folded 
by the knowledge that that clerk — that man that 
I shall never see again — thought I was buying for 
myself. To know that he thought I was one of those 
heaven-blessed women that really do exist ! — to 
think that he was quite sure of it — oh ! ” her face 
suddenly went down in her hands again just as it 
had the afternoon before at the Ritz. “ God help 
me ! ” she sobbed — and then was instantaneously 
brave again. 

“ But we must settle our accounts,” she said, put- 
ting down emotion with finance — the latter being 
death to sentiment of any sort the world over ; “ how 
much was it all? ” 

He battled fiercely with that horrible lump that 
had risen again at the sight of her face in her hands. 

“ It was nothing,” he said. 

“ Nothing!” 

“ Listen ! ” he put his hand hard on hers to gain 
emphasis. “ Listen ! — it’s been a — a wonderful 
morning for me, too. I’m rich, too — let me do 
some good, — I pray you by — by all that is holy — 


240 THE CRADLE 

let me give the cradle; I ask you with — with my 
soul.” 

She was still for a minute. Then she looked at 
him. 

“ Are you really rich? ” she asked. 

“ Very,” he said, tersely. 

She was silent for another minute ; then, “ I shall 
tell Sophie,” she said, simply. “ I can give her 
something else myself.” 

They came to the hotel a little later. 

“ And you leave to-night for Dresden ? ” he asked, 
as he accompanied her within. 

“Yes, and you go to Calais?” she replied. 

They touched hands. 

“ Good-bye,” she said, gently. 

“ Good-bye.” 

He reached his hotel in good time to make the 
Gare du Nord and the Channel-train, but he did 
neither. He went to his room and — throwing him- 
self across a large easy-chair — thought. 

And thought. 

He was a man and yet he forgot to lunch. He 
never forgot before, or after, but he forgot it that 
day. 

He sat still thinking until nearly four o’clock, and 
then he sprang up and rang furiously. 

“ L’ Indicat eur” he said to the boy who came ; 
“ here,” he tossed him a coin, “ ask in the office if I 
can get a compartment on to-night’s German express 

— the one that goes to Dresden. Tell them to send 

— to telegraph — it’s — it’s vital .” 


AS TAUGHT BY ELLEN 


I REMEMBER the day that the difference be- 
tween them first dawned upon me. I remember 
it distinctly. Brother and I were playing in “ the 
sand.” “ The sand ” was not just sand (although it 
was sand too), but a generic name applied distinct- 
ively to the strip of ground which ran between the 
house and the fence on the side where the sun did not 
shine. It was our play-place on hot days, and it had 
been rendered a delightful spot by the addition to its 
natural charms of a layer of clean brown sand one 
foot deep. 

“ The sand ” began away back by the wood-house, 
and it stretched endlessly — almost — towards the 
front piazza. We never played in the wood-house 
division, nor yet beneath the dining-room windows, 
and we never even ventured down where the front 
piazza and the morning-glory vines were, but we 
spent every second that the sun scorched us to seek 
shade, in that sweetly cool and agreeable portion 
where the air was freshened with the odor of baking 
and where our small doings were rendered pleasantly 
important by the cheerful smile and deeply solicitous 
interest of Ellen in the kitchen. 

Ellen was the cook; Norah was the second girl; 
and all this befell in the good old days when I was 


242 AS TAUGHT BY ELLEN 

young, when the cooks did the washing, and the 
second girl “ helped ” with the children. Norah 
“ helped ” with Brother and me, and we accepted her 
help and asked no questions — until the day that the 
difference began to dawn. 

I remember as if it were yesterday how Ellen pulled 
the pegs out of either side of the old-fashioned 
screen, and raising it, handed us each one a pair of 
chickens’ legs to plant. She had dried the legs in 
the stove, so that they were hard, and then had 
washed them clean. 

“ There do be two apiece,” she said, smiling. 

We were delighted. She had shown a wonderfully 
proper appreciation for the fitness of things by giv- 
ing me the bright yellow pair. Being the girl, I 
ought, of course, to have had the bright yellow ones, 
and I was glad that Ellen had understood. 

While I was living out my small character by re- 
joicing in the best pair of (chickens’) legs, Brother 
lived out his by asking, “ What can we do with them, 
Ellen? ” 

Oh, the wide good-humor of Ellen’s beneficent grin 
as she replied : “ Sure, you’ll be after plantin’ ’em 
an’ raisin’ the chickens for next Thanksgiving pie.” 

We smiled, the idea was delightful. We looked 
meaningly at one another, and just then the whole 
scheme of charm was rudely shattered by a voice 
from above — a voice from the window over the 
dining-room. 

“ Ellen, ye’d ought to be ashamed o’ yerself — 
deludin’ them childern with such a lie as that.” 

It was Norah, in the window shaking a blanket. 
Norah looked — just as she always looked. Our 


243 


AS TAUGHT BY ELLEN 

eyes went from her face to Ellen’s, and Ellen looked 
just as she always looked. And there was such a 
difference. 

It was a difference altogether beyond our under- 
standing. It was vague and yet apparent. It made 
chickens’ legs lovely to receive and then it made one 
ashamed to plant them after all. 

That day at dinner I asked, “ Papa, what is 6 de- 
load ’ ? ” for we had decided that the clue to the puz- 
zle must center in Norah’s mysterious language. 

Papa looked straight at me. 

“Not 6 deload,’ ” he said, authoritatively, “ the 
word is 6 MTiload,’ and it means to take from anything 
or anybody that which loads them — or for one to 
discharge that which he is carrying himself.” 

Brother and I exchanged a helpless glance. As 
applied to raising chickens from planted legs our 
father’s speech was anything but elucidative. 

And so we gave it up for the time being, only 
accepting the great fundamental domestic principle 
that between Ellen and Norah there was a difference. 

Life ran pleasantly and peacefully on for a year 
or two. 

Then came another day which I well remember. 

The circus was coming to town — not any par- 
ticular circus, but “ the circus ” ; and as our lives 
had never harbored but one circus before, and as 
Brother was altogether unable to recall any details 
of that one, we were both naturally much excited. 
The boy who passed down our street had thought- 
fully thrown two handbills over the fence — a piece 
of delicate courtesy highly appreciated upon our 
side. 


244 


AS TAUGHT BY ELLEN 


We took our hand-bills straight to the kitchen, 
and there displayed their glories. Norah, who was 
sitting by the window darning stockings, sniffed tre- 
mendously when Ellen avowed her amazement over 
the elephant who was standing balanced on the tip 
of his trunk. Ellen declared that her “ fellow ” 
would certainly have to take her to see that ele- 
phant, and Norah said 44 Umph ” in a tone that only 
a sister would dare use to a sister. (I fear that I 
forgot to state before that Ellen and Norah were 
sisters.) 

Then Brother gave a little gurgling laugh of ut- 
terest joy, and we saw that he had turned his hand- 
bill over and come on a wondrous presentation of a 
walrus making a pudding out of a cook-book, while 
six seals brought him the ingredients. The walrus 
wore a cap and spectacles, and held the book open 
with one flipper while he stirred vigorously with the 
other. I can assure you that you never saw the like 
— he really suggested grandma the day she did the 
mince-meat. Yes — for a fact. 

44 Do you s’pose he really reads the book ? 99 
Brother asked. 

44 Well, the idea ! 99 cried Ellen, 44 an’ him that 
wise ’t the priest himself looks no wiser. Oh, sure, 
’n’ me bye ’ll have to take me now, V if the puddin’ 
do be good I’ll take the resate ’n’ make you one like 
it for Sunday.” 

Norah laid down her stocking and lifted up her 
hands. 

44 Ellen Cartey ! ’N’ you a Christian girl. Tellin’ 
two innocent children as a fish c’n read a cook-book ! ” 

Ellen laughed. I can hear her laugh now — such 


245 


AS TAUGHT BY ELLEN 

a hearty, wholesome rippling! We looked at her, 
and the sting of Norah’s words faded. 

“ He does read it — doesn’t he?” Brother re- 
peated. 

“ Read it ! ” said Ellen, “ well, only wait till I 
take a look at him. Why — ” she cried after an in- 
stant’s scrutiny, “ only be after seein’ what he’s bid 
the little ones bring him — sugar, milk, eggs — all 
pudding things, ’n’ how could he know to ask for 
them if he hadn’t looked them out in the book? ” 

Her logic was unanswerable, her position was one 
of triumph. Norah gathered up the darning basket 
and departed in great disgust — and we stayed 
behind and discussed the entire hand-bill with Ellen. 

The difference was plain to us now. We did not, 
perhaps, understand, but we felt and knew. That 
night in bed I said, “ I’m going to pray not to be 
like Norah,” and Brother answered sleepily, “ It’ll 
be shorter jus’ to pray to be like Ellen.” 

Whichever prayer I decided in favor of I recollect 
I voiced most fervently, and then I slept, and with 
the morning came great news. 

Norah was to be married! 

For months she had been knitting linen lace, and 
now we all knew why. I heard mamma tell papa 
that it was a mercy that it would soon be over, for 
she was not worth two cents any more. 

The day of the circus Mr. Norah (as we called 
him) came in a buggy and took her somewhere, and 
a week later she went away for good and all. She 
cried all the last two days, and was angry with Ellen 
for trying to cheer her — and then we saw her no 
more. 


246 AS TAUGHT BY ELLEN 

Three years later the government opened a reser- 
vation to the public, and Ellen’s “ fellow ” drew a 
farm. It followed that the year after he drew Ellen, 
and from then on we only saw her at long intervals 
when she came to the State Fair — always with 
more family and fewer teeth. 

The last of these visits was day before yesterday, 
and the great subject of Ellen versus Norah was at 
last fully illuminated to my understanding. 

She sat in the parlor, gripping her umbrella hard, 
and smiling as generously as ever — and this is what 
she said: 

“ No, ma’am, I wasn’t down last year, no — nor 
the year before. You see, we’ve had two years’ run 
of poor crops now, an’ we didn’t feel like affordin’ it. 
Then Norah died, you know, ’n’ I was there the best 
part of the winter with her. Yes’m, she left five, 
two boys ’n’ two girls ’n’ a baby. It seemed like I 
must take ’em home with me, but we couldn’t feed 
any more, an’ Norah’s husband’s mother was there 
to look out for ’em. But you know the way I am, 
ma’am — them children jus’ preyed on my mind day 
and night. Seemed like I couldn’t sleep for thinkin’ 
of ’em — ’n’ Norah me only sister, too. An’ then 
the tale come as the oldest boy was put in the Reform 
School ! Oh, I cried like a baby — it was more than 
I could bear to think of Norah’s boy in the Reform 
School, an’ I jus’ got on a train an’ went an’ got 
them to let me take the boy an’ brought him home 
with me — an’ I wouldn’t ask a nicer boy, ma’am, 
barrin’ he won’t mind any to speak of. 

“ Well, ma’am, the next I knew come a letter from 
Mary — that’s the oldest girl — askin’ me to send 


247 


AS TAUGHT BY ELLEN 

her five dollars for a ticket, an 5 she’d run away an’ 
come too. Awful unhappy she was, an’ the letter 
that sorrowful, an’ her but twelve year with it all. 
Seems the old grandmother treated her shameful an’ 
made her work out with the men in the fields, an’ so 
on. What could I do, ma’am? It was wringing 
blood from a stone to get that five dollars, but we 
got it somehow, an’ sent it up, an’ she come, an’ maybe 
bein’ her aunt I shouldn’t say it, but the best girl — 
just as spry an’ obligin’, barrin’ a terrible eater, 
but I tell me man she’ll soon be the age to want her 
waist small, ’n’ then we’ll be easier as to keepin’ her 
full. 

“ An’ now I want to tell you the fine endin’ of it, 
ma’am — like a story-book it is, for a fact. It was 
the second month after Mary come — you see she’d 
writ back to Nellie (that’s the other girl), an’ she 
must have writ a beautiful letter, for Nellie jus’ got 
crazy, an’ what does she do but go in town an’ sell 
a ring of Norah’s an’ buy tickets, and she an’ the 
two little ones slipped off unbeknownst and took the 
train for me. 

66 Well, ma’am, they got down all safely an’ only 
one thing went wrong. They walked out, meanin’ 
to surprise me, an’ I was in town an’ missed ’em. 
So when I got home it wasn’t just the same, but I did 
all I could to keep them from mindin’ the surprise 
bein’ a little spoiled. An’ they do so well. They fit 
in with my childern like it was one family, an’ cornin’ 
one at a time like that keeps us from feelin’ the dif- 
ference in the bills.” 

“ How many children have you of your own, 
Ellen ? ” mamma asked. 


248 


AS TAUGHT BY ELLEN 


“ Well, ma’am, there’s my Mary — she’s the old- 
est, you know — an’ then there’s the seven boys, but 
— but — ” the sunny face clouded, the cheerful 
voice trembled — “ but, you know I lost my little 
Susan, an’ — an’ I’ve been so lonesome for my little 
Susan, that I’m hoping these other childern’ll fill her 
place an’ h-h-help me to bear it.” 

She sobbed outright — and then in a second she 
was laughing through her tears. 

Mamma gave her some wine and cake, and then 
we very rapidly laid our heads together to the end 
that the burden might be in some degree lightened. 

And that is the little tale of great teaching, and 
may God bless Ellen now and forever. 


HIS ONE AND ONLY MEET 


“ AT OW I’ll tell you,” said his English friend to 

1 l Wister, late in the evening of the day before, 
“ now I’ll tell you ! I’ll lay you any odds that to- 
morrow makes you all over new and alters all your 
views of our country. Just wait until you get really 
at it — get into the spirit of the game, so to speak.” 

Wister, who was probably as little of an Anglo- 
maniac as any American alive, tried to smile hope- 
fully. 

“ You never hunted in your life, I suppose,” Hen- 
ley went on. 

“ Not foxes,” said Wister, looking across at the 
window which was well down at the top — the same 
as the fire in the grate. 

“ What do you hunt? ” asked Henley, who knew 
himself to be an ideal host, and was happy in the 
knowledge. “Bear? Mountain lions ? ” 

“ Ducks and grouse, prairie chickens.” 

“ Oh, I say, one doesn’t hunt birds — one shoots 
them.” 

Wister crossed his legs the other way and thrust 
one chill hand in between his two chill knees. 

“ What will you do if to-morrow proves bad 
weather ? ” he asked, tactfully. 


250 HIS ONE AND ONLY MEET 

“ Oh, but it won’t, you know,” said Henley. “ It 
never is at this season, you know.” 

The rain, driving hard against the window on the 
other side of the room just here, seemed to require 
some explanatory addition to the above statement, 
and so its maker added, agreeably: 

“ It may rain a bit, but that won’t amount to any- 
thing.” 

“ Do you mean that you shall go out even if it 
rains ? ” 

“ Of course,” said Henley. “ But it won’t rain, 
I tell you. It never does. And — if it should — 
why, we all have covers for the saddles, you know.” 

Wister stared at him, digesting the latter bit of 
reason very slowly indeed. 

Soon after they went to bed, and the last thing 
that the American heard was the steadily driving 
rain mixed with a gusty wind — the two gaily min- 
gling upon his window pane. 

The maid bringing in his early cup of tea the next 
morning woke him to a wonder as to what the night 
had brought forth. She let up the shade and lit the 
fire and spread a bath rug and set out a tin bath 
with an enormous brass pot of boiling water in its 
middle — and then, when she was done and gone, the 
stranger in a strange land sat up and looked abroad. 
It was still raining, but there was a bright steel 
streak around the western horizon. 

“ I wonder what that means here? ” Wister said 
to himself, and got out of bed with a reluctance that 
was excruciating, and — skipping the tea, which he 
abominated — began on the bath. 

When he was dressed he went downstairs. There 


HIS ONE AND ONLY MEET 251 

was a pleasant air of bustle about, and one of the 
doors was standing wide open, letting in a fresh, 
sharp wind. 

Henley, in hunting attire, came out of somewhere. 

“ Hurrah,” he said when he saw his friend. “ Look 
what a day we’ve got ! ” and he extended his hand, 
and Wister saw with a curiously appalled thrill that 
he meant what he said. 

“ You’re going out, then? ” he asked. 

“ Going? Of course. Look at that horizon. 
Could anything be finer ? ” 

Wister felt struck dumb, and went in to breakfast 
in that state. Gwendolyn Garry was standing by the 
table in her riding things. 

“ So sorry you don’t hunt,” she said, lifting her 
beautiful eyes to the American’s. He had been won- 
dering if he was in love with her, and now he felt a 
new access of wonder about it. 

“ I suppose that I might learn,” he said, “ but I’d 
never care for a day like this.” 

“ Day like this ! ” said Gwendolyn in surprise. 
“ What’s wrong about to-day ? ” 

But before Wister could reply, Mrs. Dent and 
her husband came in, and Major Rodney, and they 
all sat down to breakfast. 

There was a great deal of conversation about 
thickets, and covers, and scents, and breaking, dur- 
ing the meal, and Wister, who was hopelessly out of 
it all, amused himself with watching Gwendolyn’s 
enthusiasm and wondering if she could ever be 
happy with an anise-seed bag and the length of Long 
Island to hunt over. But then all of a sudden he 
heard his name, and discovered that they had 


252 HIS ONE AND ONLY MEET 

dropped the fox as a subject of conversation and 
taken up his unworthy self. 

“ I shall drive him,” said Mrs. Dent, “ and the 
rest of you can go in the motor.” 

“ Indeed I sha’n’t,” said Gwendolyn Garry. “ I 
shall ride my own horse and keep him cool. I shall 
not lose such a morning in motoring.” 

“I could drive him,” said Major Dent, looking 
thoughtfully first at Wister and then at the gray 
drizzle without. “ I could take the cart and go 
around by Chippy Widgetts and let him see the old 
church there. It would be a good day to put in that 
bit of sightseeing, and it isn’t but three miles out 
of the way. You mustn’t miss seeing the church at 
Chippy Widgetts,” he said, now turning and ad- 
dressing himself to Wister. “ It’s half Norman, and 
they used to ring the same bell whenever they saw 
the Danes landing.” 

“ Wouldn’t you like to drive Mr. Wister, Gwen? ” 
asked Mrs. Dent of Miss Garry. “ Jenkins would 
ride your horse to the start, and he could leave right 
now if you want him kept cool.” 

Wister looked earnestly at Gwendolyn Garry, and 
Gwendolyn Garry returned his look with a wide-eyed 
consideration that was more thoughtful than com- 
plimentary. “ Oh, I’d so much rather ride than 
drive,” she said at last, and Wister became conscious 
of a draft through the conservatory which he hadn’t 
noticed before. 

K Ha — a — oh,” said Major Rodney all of a 
sudden,, “ I’d offer to drive Mr. Wister, but I don’t 
know where the church at — oh — h-h — Chippy 
Widgetts is.” 


HIS ONE AND ONLY MEET 253 

“ No, no, Major,” said Mrs. Dent earnestly, “ you 
sha’n’t drive any one. I’ll drive him sooner myself.” 

Wister, feeling very much like an undesirable 
lot that was up at auction, now interposed and dis- 
claimed any pressing desire to see the Chippy Wid- 
getts church. 

But he found that he was wrong in supposing 
there was any avoiding that. 

“ Why, we couldn't let you go without seeing the 
Chippy Widgetts church,” cried Mrs. Dent, looking 
absolutely appalled at the very idea; and Henley 
said reproachfully to Wister, “ Whatever are you 
thinking of to suggest such a thing,” so the Amer- 
ican gave up. 

“ It just comes to this,” said Major Dent. “ I 
shall drive Mr. Wister, Gwendolyn can ride her 
mount if she likes, and the rest had better go in the 
motor.” 

This speech seemed to be looked upon as final, and 
so as soon as breakfast was over all the English 
began to don mackintoshes and bunches of violets, 
and Wister went up to his room and surreptitiously 
put on a sweater under his coat. 

From his window he could see horses being ridden 
by in twos and threes, with an occasional enthusiast 
in a pink coat and yellow rubber apron jogging by 
on his own beast. The drizzle was settling into a 
rain, and below in the court the men were putting 
rubber covers over everything possible. Gwendolyn 
Garry, with the water streaming from her hat brim, 
was off and up the road with the rest, and when the 
stranger went downstairs he found an extraordinary 
assemblage wreathed in smiles and yellow water- 
proofing awaiting him there. 


254 HIS ONE AND ONLY MEET 


“ Come on,, old fellow,” said Henley gaily. 
“ Dent’s waiting in the dog cart, and we’re giving 
you a start on account of the church at Chippy 
Widgetts.” 

“ Now, I wonder if you hadn’t better take an 
umbrella? ” said Mrs. Dent solicitously. “ You 
might need it, you know.” 

Wister looked at her to see if she was being inten- 
tionally sarcastic, but it appeared that she was not. 

“ Yes, I think we’d better take an umbrella,” he 
said. 

The maid brought an umbrella, and every one 
crowded out under the porch to see them off. 

“Hadn’t you better take the County Guide?” 
Mrs. Dent exclaimed suddenly. “ Mr. Wister may 
like to read up about the church on the way there.” 

“ Oh, no,” said Dent. “ I can tell him all there 
is to know.” 

“ Show him the house where Charles II. slept if 
the gate is open,,” said Major Rodney. “The — 
oh — h — gate may happen to be open, don’t you 
know.” 

“ And don't be late,” Mrs. Dent said. Her hus- 
band now mounted the dog cart and Wister climbed 
after him. The groom put two saddles in water- 
proof cases in behind, and they drove off through the 
streaking rain, Wister holding the umbrella between 
his knees like a cane. 

“ I wonder if I hadn’t better raise it ! ” he haz- 
arded meekly. 

“ Well, you might try it,” said Dent. “ But the 
wind’s so likely to turn it inside out.” 

The cob went spanking along between the drip- 


HIS ONE AND ONLY MEET 255 

ping hedges, and the visitor tried the umbrella. It 
turned inside out at once. 

“They generally do,” said Dent. “You have 
to hold to one side to keep them straight.” 

Wister wrestled with the umbrella, while the road 
mud flowed freely into his eyes. When he got it 
right side out again he was glad to shove it in be- 
hind the saddles. 

“ How far is it to the meet? ” he asked then, feel- 
ing warm for the first time in England. 

“ Oh, we’re close at hand to-day,” said Dent. 
“ Thirteen miles. Only you and I are going a bit 
out of our way for the church at Chippy Widgetts.” 

“ How far out? ” 

“ Three miles. It’ll make nineteen miles going 
for us.” 

“ Great Scott ! ” Wister exclaimed. 

“ Oh, that’s nothing,” said Dent. “ We hunt all 
over the county. Take the train with the horses 
sometimes — often, in fact.” The rain was coming 
down faster and faster. 

“ That’s a nice place,” said Dent, indicating a 
gray blotch in the distance. “ Fine outlook over the 
hills.” 

“ I should judge so,” said Wister, the rain run- 
ning into his collar all around at once. 

“ There’s a ghost, too,” said Dent. “ Did Henley 
tell you ? ” 

“ No.” 

“ That’s odd. It’s one of the sights of the county. 
Next after the church at Chippy Widgetts, in fact.” 

They bowled along more merrily than ever. As 
the gray streak on the horizon lessened the rain de- 
scended more and more heavily. 


256 HIS ONE AND ONLY MEET 

“ It looks as if we might be going to have a wet 
day,” said Dent, looking over his shoulder at the 
saddles. 

“ It does look so,” assented Wister. 

“ But it’s the rarest thing in the world at this 
season. Mists and little flurries, yes, but a really 
bad day almost never.” 

“ I hope you know,” the guest rejoined with fervor. 

“ Oh, I know,” said Dent. 

And now the rain began to descend in good ear- 
nest. The hedges ran into indistinguishable masses. 

“ How far are we? ” Wister asked. 

“ Oh, we’re nearly to Chippy,” Dent replied. 

“ Where the church is ? ” 

“ Oh, dear, no. The church is at Chippy Wid- 
getts, four miles farther on.” Wister gave a slight 
start. 

“ You mustn’t do that,” said Dent, seriously. 
“ You’ll let the water pour in on the cushion beneath 
you.” 

“ But don’t you think we’d better skip the church 
to-day? ” suggested the stranger. 

“ What for? We’ll never have a better day to see 
it, and we’re so near now.” Wister was silent. 

“ Every one would reproach us if we didn’t show 
you the church at Chippy Widgetts,” said Dent 
gravely. “ There’s an old stone coffin there. 
Heaven knows whose it was.” 

“ You don’t say,” said Wister, uncomfortably 
aware that his start had let the very thing occur 
that Dent predicted. 

“ Oh, I say,” said Dent, “ I wonder if you hadn’t 
better try putting up that umbrella again.” 


HIS ONE AND ONLY MEET 257 

“ Willingly.” So saying, Wister hauled the um- 
brella out from behind and hoisted it forthwith. 

They came now successively to Chippy and to 
Chippy Widgetts and to the church. 

“ But I don’t believe you’d better try getting 
out,” said Dent. “ Your seat will get so wet, you 
know, and there’s really nothing to see after you do 
get down. All you want is to be able to say that 
you saw it, and you can say that now.” 

“ I’m perfectly satisfied,” declared Wister. “ And 
now for the fox.” 

“ Yes, now for the fox,” said Dent. “ It’s rather 
a long stretch across country here, and pretty windy, 
so look out for the umbrella.” 

It telescoped as he spoke, and broke a joint in the 
frame with a loud snap. They now faced eight miles 
of the elements untamed. 

It was a long, wet spell of weather, and Wister 
was frankly delighted when a sort of thickening of 
humanity proclaimed an approach to the end. 

“ Where is the meet? ” he asked. 

“ Ecksley Farms,” said Dent. “ Ah, there they 
are now ! ” 

A turn around the corner of a high stone wall 
suddenly brought into view a cheerful melee of 
horses, pink coats and general joy. A dozen turns 
of the cart wheels put them in the midst of the con- 
fusion. 

Within an old stoned courtyard forty or fifty 
hounds looking to be mainly spots and tails were 
flocking about four or five men in costumes that 
suggested jockeys more than anything else to the 
stranger. Around this central grouping rode some 


258 HIS ONE AND ONLY MEET 

twenty hunters, all smiles and drip. Outside quite 
an array of motors and carriages were drawn up. 

“ So this is a meet,” said Wister. 

“ This is a meet,” said Dent, who had suddenly 
become surprisingly alert and wide awake. “ Ah, 
there’s Henley, and now where the dickens is my 
groom, I wonder ! ” 

“ I’ll hold the horse if you like,” suggested Wis- 
ter. 

“ No, I don’t want to get the seat wet,” said Dent. 
“ There’s Millicent — Mrs. Dent — she’ll find him.” 

Millicent came out of the crowd and rode up be- 
side them, all smiles, like every one else. 

66 Isn’t this a sight for you ? ” she said to Wister. 
" You took so long I was almost afraid that some- 
thing had happened. It would have been a shame 
to have had you miss this.” 

“ Oh, I wasn’t going to have him miss it,” said 
Dent. “ And he saw the church at Chippy Wid- 
getts, too.” 

Gwendolyn came riding up. She looked rather 
streaky, and Wister wondered if he could ever make 
her happy according to her ideals. 

“ Isn’t this fine? ” she appealed to him with shin- 
ing eyes, and then he was almost sure that Fate had 
never meant them for one another. 

“ You must be getting out, dear,” said Mrs. Dent 
to her husband. “ Jenkins is coming.” 

“ He’ll drive Wister to see anything that there is 
to be seen when we get off, I understand,” said Dent. 

“ Yes, I’ve told him,” said Mrs. Dent. “ Come 
now, hurry.” 

Dent got the dog cart as close under a tree as 


HIS ONE AND ONLY MEET 259 


possible, and descended therefrom. Wister held the 
reins. A nice old gentleman peered pleasantly at 
him over the apron of his victoria, which was drawn 
up on the other side of the tree. 

“ That’s Lord Todmarty,” whispered Mrs. Dent 
from her horse. “ He never mounts until the last 
minute.” 

Wister looked at Lord Todmarty and wondered 
why he mounted at all under the circumstances. 

The “ j ockeys ” now rode out of the enclosure, 
surrounded and followed by the entire collection of 
spots and tails. There was a general excitement at 
once, and every one began to hurry aimlessly about. 
Only Lord Todmarty continued to peer pleasantly, 
and one gentleman who had been sitting in a cov- 
ered motor reading a newspaper rose and slowly 
quitted a fur coat and put on a pink one. 

Dent came running up, all exhilaration, and 
searched the bottom of the dog cart for a glove 
which he had dropped. 

“ They’re making for the cover now,” he said to 
Wister, as he pounced on it. “ I do hope you’ll have 
a chance to follow along.” 

Gwendolyn Garry rode out of the court and off 
across the field with Major Rodney and another man. 
Lord Todmarty began to unbutton the victoria’s 
apron. 

“ They may find any minute now,” said Dent, en- 
thusiastically. “ Oh, I say, what this all must mean 
to you, seeing it for the first time ! ” 

Wister smiled. The smile let all the rain that was 
in his ears spill out and into his collar. 

“ You’ll never forget to-day,” said Mrs. Dent, 
who was conjugally awaiting her husband. 


260 HIS ONE AND ONLY MEET 

“ I don’t believe I ever shall — I’m sure I never 
shall,” answered Wister with feeling. 

Lord Todmarty was climbing cautiously up on his 
horse; Dent sprang on his. 

“ Come on, Millicent,” he cried, and they all set 
off together. The next minute, with a sudden hue 
and cry, the whole rout broke across the field, and 
the horse that Wister was holding began to jump 
about in sympathy. 

“ One minute, sir,” cried Jenkins, running up and 
putting a large collection of irregularly shaped 
mackintosh things into the back. Then he scrambled 
quickly into Dent’s place, and seized the reins. 

“ Where do we go now ? ” Wister asked, watching 
the last riders disappear through a distant break 
in the woods. 

“ Well, sir, if we drive down by Chutney Knoll 
and wait there they’re very likely to all come back 
that way in the course of an hour or so.” 

“ Is Chutney Knoll a house? ” Wister asked. 

“ No, sir ; it’s a field.” 

“ Then we won’t go there,” said the American 
with great decision. “We won’t go there, and we 
will go home, and we won’t hunt any more to-day.” 

Wister was asleep in the long chair in his room 
when the hunters returned. The clothes he had worn 
in the morning were drying below and he was feel- 
ing pleasantly disposed toward life in general and 
his own land and its mode of life in particular. He 
was more than confident that he could never make 
Gwendolyn Garry happy, and he was very content 
that it was so. 


HIS ONE AND ONLY MEET 261 

When he heard the noise of the home-coming he 
went below and welcomed them. They were very 
wet and muddy, but extremely cheerful over every- 
thing. The hunt had been successful. 

“ Oh, if Jenkins had only done as I told him,” said 
Mrs. Dent, “ you would have seen the whole thing. 
We passed right by Chutney Knoll within thirty 
minutes after leaving you.” 

“ I can’t understand his bringing you back here,” 
said Dent severely. “ I distinctly told him to take 
you to Chutney Knoll and to wait there at least three 
quarters of an hour in any case.” 

“ Oh, I didn’t care,” said Wister. “ I saw a lot.” 

“ You saw the church at Chippy Widgetts any- 
how,” said Dent, “ and that’ll be something to talk 
about when you get back to the States.” 

Gwendolyn Garry was stripping off her wet 
gloves. 

“ What a ride that was ! ” she murmured in a tone 
of intense content ; then she looked at Henley, whose 
clothing was making a separate puddle around each 
of his boots, as he stood before the hall fire, steam- 
ing. “ What should we have done if it had been a 
bad day P ” she asked him plaintively. 

“ Oh, I say,” said Dent, “ don’t talk heresy. It’s 
never bad weather in the hunting season, you know.” 

Wister looked wonderingly at them all. 

“ And I’m said to come of English stock, too ! ” 
he thought. 

Outside the storm swirled and wailed. The wind 
battered against the windows. 

“ You’ll always look back on this day with pleas- 
ure,” said Henley to Wister. 


262 HIS ONE AND ONLY MEET 


“ Yes,” said Wister. Gwendolyn was looking at 
the fire. He felt no desire to lead her to any altar, 
either of the Chippy Widgetts church or of any 
other church. 


THE ADJUSTED HONEYMOON 



S the bell boy set down the two bags he thrust 


his hand into his trousers pocket and drew out 
— a cent. Although she was not looking at them, 
it was none the less trying. With a smothered ex- 
planation he sought again, and pulled out — an- 
other cent ! How the dickens did those coppers come 
to be upon him, anyhow! He felt hot and nervous, 
and then with a desperate dive he procured a dollar 
and — although he knew that it was entirely too 
much — handed it over at once, and the boy grinned 
and departed — 

Leaving them alone. 

They had been married just four hours, and both 
were fully aware of the fact, but determined not to 
betray it even to each other. She stood by the 
table looking at the telegrams and letters and cable- 
grams spread out there. Her gown was very new 
and very blue, and her eyes were very bright and 
her cheeks very pink. He walked carelessly over 
to the window and let one of the shades up ; the set- 
ting sun streamed in unpleasantly and he had to 
pull it down again at once. 

“ Oh, this is from Alice Cary,” she said, with deep, 
earnest joy. 

He remembered that he was carrying his hat in 
his left hand and still had on his overcoat. He laid 


264 THE ADJUSTED HONEYMOON 

the hat on the mantelpiece and began to take off his 
overcoat. The sleeve caught somehow. 

“ And this from Louise,” she said delightedly. 
“ The dear thing — to think of me to-day.” 

The coat sleeve still caught; he had never had a 
coat sleeve catch like that before in his life. His 
ears were getting red, he knew. Ought he to ask 
her to help him? Would it make things any easier? 

“ Dear Uncle Andrew,” she said, “ he wants us 
to be sure and give them a couple of days. I shall 
love to have you see that old place.” 

Darn the coat sleeve! He managed to get into 
the next room with both arms stuck out behind him 
and kick the door partly shut. Then he had to take 
both coats off at once, and there was — yes — there 
actually was a pin point protruding from the shoul- 
der seam of his new cutaway. 

“Well!” he said, “Well!” and a few other 
things, and returned to the parlor. He noticed the 
flowers now for the first time. They were really very 
well done ; there were some potted ones that wouldn’t 
be withered when they were getting breakfast next 
day. “ Heavens, next day ! ” Was it possible that 
pleasant, peaceful, placid, unperturbed days could 
ever follow in the wake of this one ! 

All those faces when he and Bob had come out 
from the vestry — and he had forgotten to pull 
down his cuffs, too! And Bob had dared to say 
under his breath, “ Steady, old man ! ” just as if 
he had been nervous. Nervous, he! He had been 
as cool as a cucumber; he always was as cool as a 
cucumber, but it certainly was very close here, and 
would she ever stop reading those letters ! 


THE ADJUSTED HONEYMOON 265 

He looked at her furtively and tried to realize that 
only three days before they had been playing tennis 
together; and only last night the whole wedding 
party had been so jolly and informal, but to-day, 
everything had changed to-day. 

She had changed. She had changed most awfully. 
She had been so pale in the church, and afterward 
at the house they had to give her a cordial ; it surely 
was a great strain getting married. It made him 
feel queer, and he was a big, strong fellow. Per- 
haps she ought not to stand there so long reading 
those letter things. What possessed people to send 
them letters ; they didn’t want letters now that they 
had each other. 

He ought to interfere some way. He started 
to roll a chair up for her to sit down; one of the 
chair’s legs caught in the rug and pulled it all 
crooked. He tried to put it straight with his foot, 
but he couldn’t ; he had to take the chair up 
bodily and put it down beside her, and then all 
but go down on his hands and knees to straighten 
the rug. 

And she hadn’t noticed any of his efforts. “ This 
is from Bessie Bell,” she murmured, “ dear old 
Bess ! ” He remembered Bessie Bell, he remembered 
her very well ; he had been engaged to her for three 
weeks once, and they had quarreled over his smok- 
ing. He wondered whether Bessie would have con- 
fined all her attention to telegrams the very first 
hour. 

He went over and opened the window. The dust 
blew in. He shut the window. Then he cleared his 
throat. Then he cleared his throat again. The arti- 


266 THE ADJUSTED HONEYMOON 

ficial effort suddenly resulted in a genuine sneeze. 
Now, that was pleasant! Suppose she laughed! 

But she didn’t laugh. She was reading another 
of the apparently numberless epistles. And only 
last night she had slipped away from the rest to kiss 
him good-by and remind him that that was their last 
good-by forever. What a change between last night 
and now. He cleared his throat again. 

“ Have you taken cold? ” she asked without lifting 
her eyes. 

“ I don’t believe so.” His tone was most cheer- 
fully conversational. “ I hope not,” he added. 

But she made no further remark. 

He went over and looked out of the window again ; 
he was thinking of Mrs. Brookes. He had told Mrs. 
Brookes that he was sure he would never know what 
to do with a wife, and Mrs. Brookes had told him 
that when he found himself actually married and off 
with his wife affairs would adjust themselves natu- 
rally and he would know just what to do with her. 
He wondered if Mrs. Brookes would call matters as 
they stood “ affairs adjusting themselves naturally.” 
Nothing was natural. Nothing had been natural 
since he had walked out of that vestry door this noon. 
And last evening they had been so happy together ; 
she had been so bright and gay among her brides- 
maids. And then that good-by kiss! And now 
would anybody have the goodness to look at her! 
Reading congratulations as if the man that they 
were congratulating her upon getting wasn’t there 
right within ten feet of her, being treated as if he 
was no more than a stock or a stone. 

He went and took his hat off of the mantelpiece 


THE ADJUSTED HONEYMOON 267 

and carried it to a branching hat rack that stood 
in the corner of the entrance hall. He was behind 
her now ; she looked very pretty even if she did still 
have on her hat. Her hair was so pretty — he had 
always thought her hair the prettiest hair that he 
had ever seen. And she had in it the little jeweled 
pin that he had bought her as an anniversary present 
when they had been engaged just twenty-four hours. 
How sweet of her to be wearing it to-day. It seemed 
so sort of poetic, somehow ; it showed that she hadn’t 
completely altered — hadn’t ceased altogether to 
care about him now that they were married. 

He cleared his throat again. She started. 

“ I didn’t know that you were there behind me,” 
she said with a catch in her breath. 

“ Just hanging up my hat,” he explained with a 
carefully careless tone. He wondered what she 
would answer, and then what he would say, and then 
what she would say to that, and then — and then — 

But she said nothing. Only tore open another 
one of those confounded envelopes, took out another 
of those blasted sheets of paper and went on with 
that infernal reading. And Mrs. Brookes had told 
him that he need not worry, that things would ad- 
just themselves naturally. Naturally! Humph! 

He walked up to the other side of the table. 
There was nothing to do there. He turned a dis- 
carded envelope over twice. Talk about honey- 
moons ! If this was a fair sample he should make a 
point of telling a few of his friends a little of his 
experience when they got back. Did any one ever 
see anything alter anybody like getting married had 
altered this girl! And only last night she had been 


268 THE ADJUSTED HONEYMOON 

so affectionate; she had laid her cheek against his 
coat, and rubbed it softly up and down there, and 
called him a silly boy, and had been perfectly sweet, 
and now look at her! She was actually so absorbed 
in those things that she had forgotten him alto- 
gether. They must have been alone for the best part 
of an hour and she had not paid the least attention 
to him yet. 

He turned the envelope over and over in his fin- 
gers. Then he drummed on the table with his nails. 
Then he cleared his throat. Then he thought of 
Mrs. Brookes. Then he thought of Bessie Bell. He 
did wonder whether Bessie Bell would have behaved 
like this. 

He took out his watch. Five o’clock. Why, it 
wasn’t but fifteen minutes since they had come in, 
and it seemed like an hour. He put up his watch. 
Then he took it out again and looked at the fob. 
Her mother had given him the fob for Christmas. 
Her mother had been so serious in bidding them 
good-by to-day. Her mother had charged him to 
be good to her. Well, wasn't he being good to her? 
If any mother could ask any man to behave better 
than he was behaving he would just beg that mother 
to indicate what possible alteration in his conduct 
even a saint might desire. 

He cleared his throat again. His throat was ac- 
tually beginning to feel raw. Suppose he had a 
sore throat ! Suppose he had laryngitis and became 
dumb for several days! That would be interesting! 

He went to the window and then back from the 
window. Suddenly he remembered Carl Adams, a 
man who had been popularly considered as his rival. 


THE ADJUSTED HONEYMOON 269 

What under the sun should bring Carl Adams into his 
head now! Such an idiot as Adams was, anyhow! 
He wondered if she would have treated Carl Adams 
as she was treating him. Adams was milk and wa- 
tery. He thought with scorn that very likely Adams 
would have gone in and begun unpacking his trunk. 
That would be just like Adams. To think of his 
trunk before his bride would be just exactly like 
Adams. He was going to be very curious what sort 
of girl Adams would marry — if he ever did marry. 
He could just fancy how he could treat her, too. 
Probably act as if he was afraid of her. Adams 
never did have any nerve, or any stamina, or any 
backbone, or any anything. 

She was opening the last one of the whole blessed, 
cursed pile! Hurrah, patience was to have its per- 
fect work at last. He felt his fingers tingling. He 
went and looked out of the window once more. When 
he turned she was thoughtfully folding the paper 
and slipping it back into the envelope. 

“ I suppose that they must all be answered,” she 
said, laying it carefully on the pile. 

“ Now? ” he cried in an indescribable tone. 

She could not help laughing. “ Not right now,” 
she said, controlling it to the limits of a smile at 
once. 

Then she began to unpin her veil. 

“ Can I help you ? ” he asked, approaching. 

“ Thank you, I’m well used to doing it alone.” 
She removed it as she spoke. “ Do you want to try 
to fold it? ” she said, holding it out to him. He 
took it. He was perfectly joyful over her noticing 
his existence. 


270 THE ADJUSTED HONEYMOON 

“ Am I folding it right? ” he asked earnestly. 

She nodded; she was drawing out her hat pins. 
Then she lifted her hat off and fluffed up her hair 
in a way that made her look just as she always 
looked. 

“ I suppose that I must unpack now,” she said 
with a little sigh. 

He thought desperately of Mrs. Brookes. Then 
he thought of her mother. Then he thought of 
Adams. It seemed more than probable that Adams 
in such a minute as the present would stand where 
he was. There was nothing of the Adams about 
him, so he refused to consider standing where he was 
standing one second longer. He moved around the 
table and stood beside her. She was holding her 
hat in one hand and he took the other. Such a 
pretty little soft white hand! 

The next second she was in his arms, and when 
he recovered consciousness he had forgotten her 
mother and Adams, and only remembered Mrs. 
Brookes. Great Scott! but Mrs. Brookes was a 
smart woman — Mrs. Brookes knew what she was 
talking about! 

******* 

He had bolted the door, and was sitting in the 
chair whose legs had so awkwardly rolled up the 
carpet. She was in his arms, her cheek was softly 
rubbing up and down against his shoulder. 

“ Do you know, dear boy,” she whispered, “ I 
almost thought that you were never going to kiss 
me. What would I have done if I had not had those 
letters to pretend to be reading ! ” 


SEEKING BLINDFOLDED 


L ETTY had been looking forward to this min- 
ute for six weeks. For six weeks she had hardly- 
thought of anything else. For six weeks she had 
been holding her mental breath, so to speak, in a 
sort of ecstasy of impatient wonder. 

The whole proposition and acceptance and car- 
rying out of orders had been as entrance into an- 
other world for her. The having screens fitted to the 
windows of the two rooms, the arrival of the piano 
and rugs, the very fact that it had been arranged 
that the stranger should have her meals served in 
her own quarters! Letty had never thought that 
one could eat at the upper end of a flight of stairs ; 
her views of luxury in the way of dining had been 
hitherto encompassed by the knowledge that it might 
be done out of the kitchen. As to a piano up-stairs 
— as to the screens — as to four trunks for a young 
lady who purported to be anxious to live a life of 
utter retirement for the summer, it was all beyond 
the present scope of Letty’s understanding. 

She stood by the door now, gasping audibly; 
Miss Holden, her long veil floating back from her 
traveling turban and her hands thrust carelessly 
into the deep pockets of her silken ulster, was by the 
window looking out at the stretch of meadow and 


272 


SEEKING BLINDFOLDED 


orchard. She was unusually tall and slender, and 
Letty was unusually short and stout. When she 
turned from the window the contrast between them 
showed yet more strongly, for Miss Holden was dark 
and richly olive in tint, while Letty was sunburned 
blonde — that kind of blonde which invariably has 
yellow eyebrows. 

I said that Letty was gasping audibly; she stood 
by the door with one hand on the knob, as if delayed 
by the possibility of an order to be given, but her 
real feelings — although many and mixed — were 
too strong for successful concealment. Miss Holden 
read them at a glance, her inward self warming sud- 
denly with the intense pleasure of good-natured su- 
periority in perceiving acute acknowledgment of the 
fact. With two long, graceful steps, a droop and a 
bend, she attained and sank into the large easy- 
chair which had been part of the preparatory ship- 
ment, and then said, smiling: 

44 What is your name, my dear ? 99 

Letty felt transfixed. The grace, beauty, conde- 
scension and subtle charm of the speaker very nearly 
made her dizzy. 

44 Lettice Danbury,” she replied. 

44 Oh, you are Mrs. Danbury’s daughter? 99 

44 Yes, ma’am.” 

Miss Holden held out her hand ; Letty compressed 
her lips, drew a long breath, approached slowly — 
and took it. It was an exquisitely white, soft hand, 
with pink, shiny nails and several rings. Lettice’s 
own was red and as broad as it was long. 

44 Don’t call me 4 ma’am ’ — I’m only a girl like 
yourself.” 


SEEKING BLINDFOLDED 273 

66 Oh ! ” It was frankly a gasp this time. 

“ I am going to stay here three months,” Miss 
Holden continued ; “ let us be friends.” 

“ Oh!” 

“ I am going to lie down for a while now to rest 
from my j oumey ; when you bring up my tea per- 
haps you can stay a little and visit with me? ” She 
could feel Lettice’s hand turn damp and hot within 
her own; she took it to be the result of sudden joy. 
“ Will you come? ” 

Again the long-drawn breath. Then, as if wrung 
out: 

“ Yes.” And Letty fled. 

May Holden arose from the chair the minute that 
she was left alone and locked the door. Then she 
advanced to the mirror and looked at herself. 

“ How well I stand traveling — I never get tum- 
bled!” (She began to unpin her hat.) “I believe 
that I shall really be very comfortable here; it looks 
so! ” (She removed her hat carefully.) “ And that 
girl! — poor little undeveloped thing! ” (She care- 
fully folded her veil.) “ I see why I am here,” she 
said, with an earnest faith in her own words which 
was almost touching, considering the care with which 
her summer residence had been chosen and prepared. 
“ I am sent here by Fate to bring that girl to the 
knowledge of her own soul.” 

She began then to unlock and unpack her trunks, 
the usual way in which a traveler “ rests,” and al- 
though she was both neat and quick the task was 
one which kept her wholly occupied until the after- 
noon was almost over. In the stress of collar-boxes, 
dress-hangers and tissue paper, all else was forgot- 


274 


SEEKING BLINDFOLDED 


ten until the cuckoo clock chimed half-past five. 
With a pleasant sensation of having accomplished 
wonders unaided, the new summer-boarder hastily 
exchanged her dress for a loose negligee of pink 
cambric, knotted her hair carefully into a careless 
loop, unlocked the door and was back in the deep 
chair with a book when Letty came awkwardly in 
with the tea-tray. That a tea-tray was something 
totally unknown in the house or the neighbourhood 
was only too evident from its laying and its lading, 
but Miss Holden smiled sweetly over the whole. 

“ Don’t forget that you are coming up to sit with 
me,” she said to Letty as together they lifted the 
pie off of the ham and sorted the plates, tea-pot and 
spoons. 

“ No,” said Letty ; “ but I’ll have to help mother 
wash the dishes first.” 

“ Oh, to be sure.” The summer guest smiled 
more sweetly than ever. “ Is there a large family ? ” 
she asked further. 

“ There’s father, and mother, and grandfather, 
and the boys — there’s three boys — and Emily ; 

she’s my little sister, and — and ” She 

paused. 

u What a large family ! ” the stranger com- 
mented. 

But Letty was gathering fresh breath to some 
purpose. 

“ And there’s Reuben ! ” she blurted out suddenly, 
and became so deeply, darkly red that her eyebrows 
would have had the effect of two flashes of lightning 
if only Miss Holden had been looking at her — 
which she was not. 


275 


SEEKING BLINDFOLDED 

“Who is Reuben?” she asked, pleasantly. 

Letty’s bosom swelled. “ He’s our hired man,” 
she answered. 

“Ah! Well, don’t forget to come and sit with 
me this evening.” 

“No; I won’t.” Then she went out. 

The boarder, left alone, proceeded to lean an in- 
teresting book up against the tea-pot, which was 
rendered of great solidity by its full quart of bit- 
terly strong liquid, and to read while she ate her 
evening meal. 

When the latter was satisfactorily concluded she 
laid the book aside, arose and went to the window. 
The warm, intense hush of a country nightfall was 
without. Nothing living was to be seen. Her eyes 
moved slowly and happily over the wide-stretching 
meadow land, and in and out among the crooked 
tree-trunks of the orchard. A little soft night-wind 
stirred the ribbons that tied the pink cambric neg- 
ligee; they fluttered artistically, and their wearer 
sighed. 

“ This is just my ideal,” she thought, with all 
the fervor of a city child newly turned loose among 
the milk-weed. “ I was quite right to put myself 
to this test.” Then she raised her hand and re- 
placed a lock of hair that the breeze had loosed 
from the moorings, but the lock, replaced, refused 
to stay there, and drifted out to sea again. “ How 
do girls manage whose hair is not naturally wavy? ” 
she wondered, and then the noise of the door behind 
her reminded her of Letty’s undeveloped soul, and 
she turned quickly towards its possessor. 

Letty had come up for the tea things. She looked 


276 SEEKING BLINDFOLDED 

very hot, in accordance with Nature’s law, which 
locates the kitchen on the breezeless side of every 
farmhouse. She also looked troubled, and her new 
friend — again within the easy-chair — observed 
the fact. 

“ When you come up to chat I shall be so inter- 
ested to hear all about your life,” she said, gra- 
ciously. 

Letty looked so unfeignedly miserable that it was 
impossible not to observe the fact. 

“ Things do not always go to suit me,” said Miss 
Holden, consolingly ; “ things often trouble me” 

Letty piled the dishes together with a vigor which 
did not dissipate the clouds upon her countenance. 

“ I have really had quite a little tragedy in my 
life this spring,” said Miss Holden, who was by na- 
ture communicative, and had had no one to confide 
in since she left a chance acquaintance on the train. 
“ I mean to tell you all about it when you come 
back.” 

Letty was speechless with a lump in her throat, 
but smiled with heartrending bravery, took up the 
tray and went out. 

“ She really has great sensibilities,” the new- 
comer remarked to herself. “ Dear me, fancy the 
possibilities of unfolding its true world to a nature 

in a chrysalis like that ; it will — be ” The 

phrase died on her lips unfinished, as she opened her 
book again. 

The twilight stole on, and on. It finally grew 
too dark to read. The book lay closed. The read- 
er’s eyes looked out upon the black silhouette of 
trees and the star-lighted sky above. She was wait- 


SEEKING BLINDFOLDED 277 

ing for Letty, and Letty came not. Letty seemed 
to take a good while to wipe dishes for her mother. 
“ I suppose that it is a lesson in patience for me,” 
reflected her would-be enlightener. 44 1 must learn 
to accept the lessons of every hour in a cheerful 
spirit.” A cricket outside was chirping shrilly. 44 1 
wonder if he will keep that up all night ? ” The 
frogs were croaking, too. 44 1 always forget what a 
racket frogs make when I am not absolutely listen- 
ing to them.” Then a lonely cow began to moo, 
and appeared incapable of discontinuing. 44 They 
must have taken away her calf — poor thing. Well, 
I suppose there is a reason for it all.” She arose 
and began to walk up and down. 44 And to think 
that this time last night I was at the theatre ! ” 

Just then Letty came in. It was so dark that she 
fell against a chair at once. Miss Holden hurried 
solicitously towards her and came crash against the 
table. 

44 Oh, where is a light ? ” she exclaimed. 

44 We can’t make a light ; the gnats come in so 
bad.” Letty extricated herself as she spoke, and 
they both groped towards the window together. 

Now was the psychic minute in which the educated 
nature was to lay hold of the uneducated and begin 
its first missionary work with the indigenous heathen. 
Miss Holden did not waste a second on preliminaries. 

44 I’m so glad there’s a girl in the family,” she 
said. 44 1 know we shall be friends. We can each 
do so much for one another; I can teach you and 
you can teach me. Life is so marvelous ; have you 
ever thought what a great kingdom God gave you 
to rule when He let you be bom an intelligent be- 
ing?” 


278 


SEEKING BLINDFOLDED 


“ No,” said Letty. 

“ I’m going to give you a book to read ; it’s such 
a splendid book. I only read it first last spring, 
but I wish I had read it when I was ten years old. 
It’s all about what we can do in the way of ruling 
ourselves. Are you fond of books ? ” 

“No,” said Letty; she felt rather blue for more 
reasons than one. In anticipating Miss Holden’s 
coming she had never pictured her as anything like 
this. 

“ Ah, you haven’t been rightly trained, then. But 
never mind; we won’t talk books, we’ll talk life. 
Life’s best lessons are out of life itself. How old 
are you, my dear? ” 

The cricket had now taken up his post right under 
the window, and a tree-toad had chimed in out of tune. 

“ I’m seventeen,” said Letty. 

“ And I’m twenty-one,” said the other girl ; 
“ only four years as time is counted, but what an 
eon when you consider experience ! ” 

Letty hitched uneasily in her chair ; she didn’t 
know what an eon was, and didn’t care, but she did 
know where she wanted to be, and that she wasn’t 
there. 

“ Have you ever loved, my child ? ” 

Letty’s chair creaked with the start she gave; 
she did not reply immediately. 

“ I am so distressed over my love-affair.” Miss 
Holden’s chair creaked with the adjusting twist 
which she gave as a preliminary to the story which 
she had not told since she told the lady on the train. 
“ Of course you won’t tell? It’s the tragedy I said 
I’d tell you about, you know ? ” 


SEEKING BLINDFOLDED 279 

“No,” said Letty; she felt glad that the con- 
versation had skipped all necessity for her replying 
to the previous question; Letty, as the reader has 
already gathered, was by nature better fitted to be 
a confidante than to confide her own affairs to any- 
one else. 

“ Oh, what a comfort it is to me to meet someone 
that I can trust. I go perfectly mad thinking of 
how really awful my affair is. I must tell you all 
about it; he is a clergyman.” 

Letty was silent — not so the cricket, the tree- 
toad, the frogs and the cow. 

“ He is a man of exalted ideals — I love that. 
But he wants to live in the country, and I do not 
know whether I could live in the country. That is 
why I am here; I want to test myself. You see?” 

“ Y-y-yes,” said Letty. 

The cuckoo chimed nine. 

“ I always go to bed at nine,” said Letty. 

“ So early? ” 

“ I get up at five.” 

“ My dear child ! I should think that you’d die! ” 

Letty was silent. 

“ I’ll hurry and finish. So I’ve made up my mind 
to spend this whole summer in the country and see 
whether I can breathe its very spirit into me so deep 
that I shall feel sure of being happy if I marry a 
man who is settled there.” 

She paused for an answer, but no answer came. 

“ We are not engaged,” she said ; “ indeed, I 
don’t mind telling you that he has never asked me 
anything about it. That’s the tragic part of it. 
But I feel sure that he will some day, and I want 


280 SEEKING BLINDFOLDED 

to be prepared to intelligently sacrifice everything 
for him. I want to know just what I’m doing when 
I tell him that I’ll do it. Besides, the family are all 
going up in the mountains this summer, and I’m 
so tired of the mountains.” 

Letty held her peace. 

“ But you mustn’t think that I’m egotistical,” 
her friend said suddenly ; “ one of the duties of a 
clergyman’s wife is to interest herself in everybody, 
and I’m so interested in you, you can’t think. I 
mean to be a real older sister to you and wake your 
better nature up to the splendid scope of its vast 
responsibilities.” 

Lettice rose suddenly. 

“ I’ve got to go to bed now,” she said, firmly. 

“ Oh, must you? ” There was real regret in the 
tone. 

“ Yes.” 

Miss Holden sighed. She had to let her go, how- 
ever. Later she sat for a long time looking out 
upon the peaceful night. The contrast between the 
peace that the eye saw, and the discordant hum that 
rasped the ear-drums was most striking. As the 
night progressed the cow became more inconsolable, 
the cricket had friends in, and the tree-toad and the 
frogs joined lots in a political campaign. The 
cocks began to crow before any of the others let up. 

The country visitor had just sunk into a really 
profound slumber when Letty woke her for her 
breakfast. 

“ What time is it ? ” 

“ Seven o’clock.” 

“ Why, what ever 


But then she stopped 


SEEKING BLINDFOLDED 281 

short; the ways of the Lord are past all finding 
out, and perhaps this last straw was necessary to 
the building of the perfect edifice of a clergyman’s 
wife’s spirit. 

“ Put it on the table,” said Miss Holden, meekly. 

And then, when Letty had obeyed, she tossed her- 
self in among the pillows again and slept on undis- 
turbed until Letty awoke her again. 

“ Letters ! ” the latter announced briefly, advanc- 
ing to the bed and laying them on its coverlet. 

“ Thank you so much.” 

“ Can I take the tray ? ” 

“ Oh, yes ; will you, please ? I wasn’t hungry ; 
I was very, very tired.” 

Letty took the tray and carried it down-stairs. 
But her mother said words when she saw the un- 
touched dishes. 

“ Humph ! What’s the good o’ me sweatin’ fry in’ 
eggs to spoil like that? She’ll need be good pay 
if that’s the way she uses good food ! ” 

“ She says she’s in love,” volunteered Letty. 

“ In love, eh? ’S that why she wants to live in 
the country an’ eat up-stairs ? ” 

u She wants to see whether she’ll like livin’ in the 
country. She says he lives in the country.” 

“ Well, Heaven help him if he gets her.” Mrs. 
Danbury was sorting the untouched breakfast dishes 
with a disgusted face. “ Here, Emily, you put this 
ham an’ eggs out in the cool room; we can warm 
it for the boys’ lunches maybe. Did I ever ! ” 

“ She’s awful funny ! ” said Letty, thoughtfully. 
Her mother was getting out the ironing-board, and 
made no answer. Emily returned from disposing of 


282 SEEKING BLINDFOLDED 

the ham and eggs according to instructions, and the 
two sisters were then despatched together to bring 
the basket of clothes ready for ironing. 

While they were all setting to work at Tuesday’s 
regular task the kitchen door opened gently and 
their boarder, all in white pique, with a delicate sun- 
shade in one gloved hand, looked in smiling. 

44 I’m going to walk,” she announced ; 44 and will 
you tell me, please, is the village to the left or the 
right? I’ve forgotten which way I came yester- 
day.” 

“ It’s to the left,” said Mrs. Danbury, wiping her 
forehead with her apron. In spite of herself her 
voice sounded tart, on account of the undercurrent 
of sentiments which will ever be stirred if you are 
called upon to contemplate white pique while you are 
wiping your forehead with your apron. 

46 Oh; and what time is luncheon, please? ” 

44 We have dinner at twelve, sharp.” 

44 Oh, thank you. There isn’t anything I can do 
for you in the village, is there? ” 

44 Thanks ; no, there ain’t.” 

The door closed gently again, and silence reigned 
behind. 

May Holden never forgot that walk that fresh 
June morning. Its memories stayed by her for 
many reasons; she set out so full of crude — piti- 
fully crude — hopes and aims for one thing, and the 
sun shone so gayly on their shattering for another. 
The whole country was sweet with clover and there 
were other fragrances that ministered to the joy 
with which she started. She was nearly half-way 
to the village when she met Clifford, and they knew 


SEEKING BLINDFOLDED 283 

each other from afar. He quickened his steps when 
he saw her, and joined her just where the cross-road 
joined the main. 

“ This is nice,” he said, shaking hands. “ I heard 
of your coming last night — you see it’s quite an 
event in a little place like this.” He had loosed her 
hand at once, and an almost painful flush was on his 
face. 

“ I am so glad to be here. It’s such a pretty 
country. And I am really very comfortable.” She 
spoke quickly and constrainedly, and tried to cor- 
rect the difficulty. “ I am so glad I happened to 
choose this place,” she said. 

“ I am very fond of it,” he said ; “ I have been 
here nearly a year now.” Then he hesitated. “ Are 
you going to the village on an errand,” he asked, 
“ or are you just out for a walk? ” 

“ I am just out for a walk.” 

“ Let us go down the cross-road, then ; it is so 
much less dusty.” 

She turned willingly. Before they had gone many 
steps he spoke. 

“ I was just coming to call upon you.” With 
the words his face turned crimson again; he was 
a singularly clean, innocent, attractive-looking 
young fellow, and his burning blushes had a charm 
of their own. 

“ Oh, were you? How kind of you. I am afraid 
it’s rather a stupid family I live in, but ” 

“Nobody is stupid,” he interrupted, gravely; 
“ it is only that we do not understand.” 

u Yes ; I feel that, of course. I realize the tre- 
mendous possibilities of them all. I feel as if I had 


284 


SEEKING BLINDFOLDED 


a mission. I feel as if I were to do them real good.” 

His clear eyes just drooped sideways upon her 
face; a little line of pain crept down between his 
brows. She hurried on. 

“ I’m to be there three months, you know ; that 
is long enough to accomplish great things. There 
is a girl of seventeen, and I’ve already begun to 
make a friend of her ; I shall give her books to read 
and do just all I can to develop her.” 

“ Why do you want to do that ? ” His voice was 
very quiet and low — so quiet and low that she felt 
surprised herself at a sort of incipient shock which 
the question, posed so simply, gave her. 

But she stumbled on to reply : “ Why, because I 
want to do good; I want to have an influence; I 
want to help others.” 

The line of pain deepened. 

“ It isn’t like you,” he said. “ You’ve had no 
Experience with those edged tools. You must be 
very careful or you may do great harm.” 

“ Great harm ! ” She did not understand. 

“ Yes ; you may make Lettice Danbury discon- 
tented and altogether unfit her for the only life for 
which she is fitted.” 

She looked at him in astonishment. 

“You must forgive me, Miss Holden; but we 
country clergymen are obliged to look with sus- 
picion upon such eleemosynary assistance as city 
boarders are apt to bring us. Lettice will make a 
contented, willing, fairly happy wife and mother 
if you let her alone. I charge you, therefore, to let 
her alone.” 

Miss Holden’s cheeks were flushing. 


SEEKING BLINDFOLDED 


285 


“ Pray forgive my bluntness,” said the young 
man ; “ but you see I am really fighting for my own. 
Lettice, now and after she marries Reuben next au- 
tumn, is and will be one of my parishioners until 
some accident removes one or the other of us from 
this township; whereas you are only a friend whom 
I have known slightly and pleasantly, but with whose 
life and future I can never expect to have anything 
whatever to do.” 

Miss Holden stopped and stooped suddenly. The 
sensation that his words gave her was absolutely 
sickening. 

“ My shoe is untied,” she said, thickly. 

“ May I tie it? ” Clifford asked, bending above 
her. 

“ No,” she said, turning a little from him. “ I 
can manage it myself.” 

When she straightened up her eyes were full of 
tears ; she was obliged to dry them with a hand- 
kerchief. 

“ It is so dusty,” she murmured. 

“Yes, indeed,” said her companion. 

After a little he said : “ I hope that I did not put 
that too harshly about your efforts in behalf of Let- 
tice; I know you mean well.” 

“ Oh, I know that,” she said. “ I assure you 1 
understand perfectly — and I will be careful.” 

“ A clergyman must fight for his own, you know; 
and poor little Lettice Danbury, ordinary girl as 
she is, will have more meaning in my life than any 
society girl in the city can ever have.” 

She just nodded. 

“ Shall you marry a country girl when you do 
marry ? ” she asked, after a little. 


286 


SEEKING BLINDFOLDED 


Clifford removed his hat. 

“ I have been engaged for two years to the sweet- 
est girl Heaven ever made,” he said,, reverently. 
“ She has an invalid mother to care for, and I am 
at present too poor to marry, but we are very happy 
sharing our waiting.” 

May Holden turned her head away from him and 
looked off over the patchwork of the growing crops. 
The pain within her was the travail that brings forth 
a soul. All sorts of delusions, illusions, shams and 
pretenses fell from her as she looked away. She saw 
much clearly for the first time, and it was her own 
soul — not poor Lettice’s — which she found her- 
self developing. 

“ How long do you anticipate remaining ? ” Clif- 
ford asked, after the short pause necessary in which 
to master his surprise at the silence with which she 
had received his announcement. 

“ Oh, only a little while.” Then she said, gently, 
“ I do hope that you will be very happy, Mr. Clif- 
ford.” 

“ Thank you very much,” he said, heartily. “ I 
feel pretty positive as to that. She is a dear, affec- 
tionate little home-maker, with a real talent for en- 
tering into the joys and sorrows of those about her.” 

Miss Holden was back in good season for dinner, 
but she had walked too far and looked pale and tired. 
To Lettice, whom she found dusting her rooms, she 
expressed a desire for nothing more than a glass of 
milk. 

“ I think that I will lie down,” she said ; “ you’ll 
tell your mother not to send me up anything, 
please.” 


SEEKING BLINDFOLDED 


287 


Lettice told her mother, who was freshly exas- 
perated at the new boarder’s lack of consideration. 

44 An’ me killin’ chickens on wash-day an’ cookin’ 
’em in the midst o’ ironin’, an’ then she don’t want 
nothin’ to eat ! ” 

She continued to scold all through the prepara- 
tions for dinner and the dinner itself, but when Let- 
tice, going up-stairs in the middle of the afternoon, 
brought down the glass of milk untouched and the 
news that the boarder was 44 crying her eyes out,” 
Mrs. Danbury’s mouth closed and her heart opened. 
She mounted the stairs with a firm step, entered her 
guest’s room, advanced to the bed, and looked down 
upon the recreant. 

44 Anybody dead ? ” she asked, briefly. 

44 No, not that.” 

44 Anybody hurt, paralyzed, run off with bank 
money ? ” 

May shook her head, smiling faintly. 

44 Then what is it ? ” 

44 It’s something that will make me leave very 
soon.” 

44 Leave — very — soon ! ” Mrs. Danbury’s tone 
spoke volumes. 

May steadied herself against the pillow. 

44 I’ve been thinking about Lettice,” she began. 

44 She can’t come to you. She’s gone to town with 
Reuben. It ’most used her up havin’ to sit up here 
last evenin’. Night’s their courtin’ time.” Mrs. 
Danbury’s voice was very high and strained. 

44 Yes, I know.” Miss Holden’s voice was very 
low. 44 I’m sorry I was so thoughtless last night. 
I didn’t know that she was to be married, then, you 


288 SEEKING BLINDFOLDED 

see. And now it’s these things, Mrs. Danbury — 
all these things. I bought them and sent them down 
here, and I don’t want to take them back to town 
again. I never thought of taking them back when 
I sent them down. I — I — I thought I might stay 
1-1-onger, and — I want Lettice to have them. I’m 
quite able to give them to her. Only the piano I 
know she cannot use, and that I mean to give to the 
church for the church parlor.” 

Mrs. Danbury appeared struck dumb for a min- 
ute; then she said, emphatically: 

“ Well, I must say it’s mighty kind of you, an’ 
Reuben an’ Lettice won’t ever know how to thank 
you enough.” 

“ I’d rather that they didn’t try,” said May 
Holden, smiling again, and then she turned on 
her pillows. “ I think I’ll try to sleep now,” she 
said. 

Later that day, when the evening was again fallen 
softly over all, she stole to the window and leaned 
there, looking out upon the same scene with sad, 
pitifully changed eyes. How puerile and abortive 
it had all been, her coming, her going, her every- 
thing! She felt so ashamed, so pricked with scarlet 
self-contempt. 

And then as the cricket, the tree-toad, the frogs, 
even the desolate mother-cow, took up their yester- 
cry, she felt blindly, strangely — a groping towards 
something strange and sweet and hitherto unknown. 

“ I was trying for something better,” she whis- 
pered to herself. “ I was trying.” 

And a wee, naked, shivering, cherubic embodiment 
of spiritual comfort came and nestled in her heart. 


SEEKING BLINDFOLDED 


And the next day, when she went home, there went 
with her the new possibilities of a new soul — a soul 
born in the country — not to the farmer’s daughter 
— but to the city young lady. 









THE WINTER OF THEIR 
DISCONTENT 


W INIFRED’S hair was red and her nose was 
uplifted. She was an orphan, with a fortune 
and an independence of disposition. Withal she was 
charming. What she elected to do she always did 
and looked forward to always doing. Therefore, 
when she declared that she would be one of the last 
party to cross the X Glacier that year she was one 
of it. An accident happened, and part of the at- 
tendant debris carried Winifred with it. Her body 
was lost, and her mother’s second cousins and her 
father’s two aunts were left to contest her property. 

It happened, however, that she was not killed. 
With the daring luck that so frequently attends her 
shape of nose she was carried on the crest of the snow 
slide and landed unsmothered in the valley. It was 
not the valley at the foot of the range, though — 
it was but an intersecting ravine. In the summer a 
goatherd’s path led through to the slopes beyond, 
but in the winter it was deserted except for Hether- 
waite and his dog. 

Hetherwaite was a young man who had elected to 
live in that lonesome spot for the purpose of study- 
ing the action of glacial drift. He was going to be 


292 THE WINTER OF THEIR DISCONTENT 


a college professor, and, because his father had been 
a vague and delightful dreamer, the son felt a 
stronger need for glacial investigation than for 
remedying the Trust evil or simplifying English 
spelling. Therefore, he had an Alpine hut con- 
structed in the Val d’X, and was settled comfortably 
there for several months of solitude. He was a good- 
looking fellow who — unhandicapped by his father’s 
spirit — might have won permanent glory on the 
football team, but he had never even thought of de- 
scending to such folly, being of the cast of mind 
which, in his present situation, caused him to be more 
concerned for fear that his ink might freeze than that 
he might run short of oil — and oil was the operat- 
ing medium of his one stove. 

It was to the door of his hut that Winifred slid, 
upside down, out of breath, half conscious and 
totally unexpected. 

The dog saw her first, for Hetherwaite was too 
busy looking afar at the avalanche to perceive a 
woman almost under his feet. 

When he did see her he carried her inside and eyed 
her with infinite disgust. Before she came to he had 
figured out that she must have his bunk and either 
the brush or the comb from then until the following 
spring. 

She opened her eyes shortly after and smiled at 
the breadth of his shoulders and the excellent manner 
of his beard and mustache. 

“ I’m not dead, then P ” she asked. 

“ No,” he answered, and it flashed through his 
mind how simple that solution of her case would have 
been in such a thawless region. 


THE WINTER OF THEIR DISCONTENT 293 

Later in the day they sat facing each other and 
discussed the situation. It might have been worse — 
from Winifred’s standpoint, but nothing could have 
deepened its blackness, according to Hetherwaite’s 
views. 

Then the winter set in, for the avalanche had 
ended the passage of any more parties for that year. 

It was an awful winter! 

Before the first week of its dreary length had 
ended all of Winifred’s buoyant spirits were gone. 
She was forced to learn one of life’s saddest lessons 
without the rose-strewn preliminaries which ordina- 
rily soften the first flinty boulders that stand as mile- 
stones on that highroad which the majority of men 
and women prefer to the single path at the side. 
Hetherwaite — always outdoors — always having 
his eyes fixed on possible avalanches, never paid any 
attention to the gift brought him by the first of its 
kind that year. If his mind had been of the social 
rather than the glacial order, he might have taken 
advantage of the rare opportunity Fate had cast his 
way, and learned definitely whether at least this one 
woman would make a congenial life companion. A 
good many of our greatest minds have felt that mar- 
riage is at present too often rashly undertaken — 
that more preliminary acquaintance should be un- 
dergone — that a fuller knowledge of each other’s 
characteristics would be a guarantee against the 
future disenchantment which all too often ensues. 
But Hetherwaite, deeply annoyed at the unavoidable 
invasion of his solitude, made no effort to mitigate 
any of the evils of the situation. On the contrary, 
he stripped it to its barest and left the bones of the 


294 THE WINTER OF THEIR DISCONTENT 

skeleton for his companion to contemplate from dawn 
to dark. 

The results were sad — a sort of parody on what 
might have been, but, now never could be. Winifred, 
forced to feel keenly her unwelcome presence, was 
further forced — within the passing of one short 
fortnight — to that full and complete comprehension 
of all her companion’s peculiarities which is the 
usual lot of a golden-wedded wife. In the same 
period Hetherwaite arrived at the same understand- 
ing of her irremediable deficiencies which generally 
marks the further boundary of the honeymoon. He 
took refuge in the friendship of his dog — and just 
because he found comfort in the dog’s society Wini- 
fred had no living being to find comfort in. 

And the winter swept on — bitterly cold and 
cheerless. 

There were no books in the hut except a few 
scientific works. There were no implements for any 
sort of female employment. The question of whether 
a shirt of outing flannel which her host had given her 
to replace her fur jacket indoors should be worn 
hind-side before or as God and the tailor intended, 
naturally took up only a small share of the earlier 
portion of each day — and then there were hours, 
and hours, and yet more hours left to be passed. 
The poor girl looked out on the blinding glare of ice 
and often and often wished herself beneath it. 

And the winter snowed and blasted itself along. 

The night that fell brought Hetherwaite to his 
silhouette portrait of a home (it may be called a sil- 
houette portrait, since the outline of a house, a fire 
and a girl waiting were always there), and the con- 


THE WINTER OF THEIR DISCONTENT 295 

versation that followed his entrance partook of a 
marital tinge — but tinge is too soft a word, their 
speech was etched with that biting fluid which artists 
use to eat away the metal. 

66 Is it cold out? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Colder than yesterday? ” 

“ Huh!” 

“ Colder than yesterday? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Oh, dear.” 

Then silence. He ate moodily, and went to his 
chart-drawing of altitudes and barometer falls, while 
she sat there, feeling that the Norwegian hell, with 
its green transparency and glassy blue ghosts, was 
yawning about her. Sometimes she thought of fall- 
ing at his feet and weeping there until some spot 
within him melted toward her loneliness; but then 
her pride arose, she recollected what a beggar on his 
bounty she was, and she folded her hands tightly 
together and vowed to endure to the end. 

And the winter continued to grind and grate 
along. 

When the days began to lengthen a very little a 
slight incident occurred that was the only event of 
the whole six eternally long-drawn-out months. 
Hetherwaite, out staring about in his blue goggles, 
slipped and sprained his wrist. He tried to bandage 
it himself, but in the end she had to help him. She 
did it neatly and quickly, and when the pins were 
fastened she said, smiling: 

“ I’m glad I can do something for you.” 

He did not know what tears quivered behind the 


296 THE WINTER OF THEIR DISCONTENT 

smile and thought she was endeavoring to prove the 
advantage accruing from her presence there. 

“ I could have done it myself, after a little,” he 
retorted, at once, and never let her aid him again. 

And then the winter hung on dolefully, until the 
March winds tore it to shreds and flung them out 
into the April rain to get washed away. 

The first expedition over the X Glacier marked 
the opening of spring, and consequently the un- 
happy couple noted with joy the beginning of their 
end. Hetherwaite, looking through his field-glasses, 
was the first to see a line of little black dots creep- 
ing along the heights above, and his exclamation 
brought Winifred to learn what untold event had 
called forth such a sound. 

He placed the glasses in her hands as quickly as 
he could adjust them, and then she saw it, too, and 
cried for the gladness that filled her at the sight. 
Hetherwaite smiled grimly at her radiance, and the 
dog wagged his tail. The wag was too much for 
the girl’s full heart at the moment — she fell on her 
knees at the animal’s side, threw her arms about 
his neck, buried her face in his fur, and burst into 
tears. 

The man who had spent the winter so near and 
yet so far started as he looked upon her there, and 
felt suddenly troubled. 

“ The goatherds will be getting through next 
week,” he said, almost stammering, but with a vague 
idea of an attempt at comfort ; “ as soon as they 
come I can send for some guides to take you back.” 

She looked up at him and smiled with the bravery 
that had fought the winter months along. 


THE WINTER OF THEIR DISCONTENT 297 

“ It won’t seem long now,” she said, simply, “ and 
you will have peace soon.” 

He felt yet more distressed, and, stooping, helped 
her to rise to her feet. 

44 I’m afraid I’ve been a boor to you,” he sud- 
denly blurted out. 44 1 never thought of it in that 
way before.” 

She dimpled a little, for she was a woman — even 
after all the Winter just passed through. 

44 I’d forgive anyone anything to-day,” she an- 
swered. 

And that night they talked together — for the 
first time since the night after her arrival. And the 
talk melted some of the glacial debris in Hether- 
waite’s heart and set the little river that means 
destruction to every glacier running under the mass 
of ice above. Perhaps the heart preserved so cool 
and fresh was all the more susceptible after being 
thawed out, but Winifred noticed a tremendous epoch 
of change ensue. 

On the fifth day, when the goatherds did really 
come through, Hetherwaite had begun to doubt 
whether he could exist at all alone in the Val d’X. 
He asked seriously whether he would not be a neces- 
sary factor in the establishing of the fact that Wini- 
fred was not really dead. 

44 Probably your estate is in probate,” he said. 

44 1 can pull it out alone, then,” she laughed ; 44 I’ve 
learned to be very sufficient unto myself.” 

He looked hurt — as if she ought not to have said 
it. 

44 1 don’t know that it’s safe to send you off like 
that with five men, anyhow,” he objected. 


298 THE WINTER OF THEIR DISCONTENT 

44 Perfectly so,” she replied. 

“ It isn’t proper, anyhow,” he said, firmly. 

Then Winifred had to laugh outright. 

Hetherwaite stared for a moment, and then he 
suddenly looked queer. 

“ I declare,” he said ; 44 it seems — honestly, it 
does seem ” 

Winifred looked at him and waited. 

44 Anyhow,” he said, doggedly and vaguely, 44 you 
know the very worst of me now ! ” 

44 Yes,” she said, amusedly, 44 and I lived to tell the 
tale, too.” 

44 I’d never be so beastly again,” he said, finally. 

44 1 hope not,” she murmured. 

44 Will you — will you think it over ? ” he asked, 
and his eyes were as dumbly appealing as the dog’s. 

44 Perhaps,” she told him. 

But she smiled into his eyes. 

A few mornings later she carefully dressed herself 
in everything in which she had slid down, and was 
ready to go. 

They walked out together upon the greening 
slopes to watch for the approach of the party of 
rescuers. The Val d’X was brilliant in its Alpine 
livery of spring, and their hearts seemed blossoming 
with the same gay colors that flecked the landscape 
of mountainside and valley rivulet. 

44 1 think that we shall be very happy,” said 
Hetherwaite. 

44 I think so,” said Winifred. 

Then they saw afar a little cavalcade of advancing 
jet points. 


THE WINTER OF THEIR DISCONTENT 299 


44 You’ll soon be gone,” he exclaimed, drawing her 
hand within his own, 44 but never mind, I’ll soon be 
going myself. And then ” 

They looked at each other and smiled delightfully. 

44 I’m not complaining,” said Winifred, 
44 but ” 

The little points of jet were now as large as chess- 
men. 

44 But,” said Hetherwaite, 44 what is it P ” 

44 I should like — ” She hesitated again. 

44 You know you can have what you like, so go on.” 

44 Well, then,” she said, suddenly and desperately, 
44 1 should like — if you don’t mind — to go — after- 
ward, you know — to some flat, warm place.” 

Hetherwaite burst out laughing. 

44 Dear Winifred,” he exclaimed, 44 we will go to 
the Sahara, and I will study sand currents.” 

And then they saw that the guides were growing 
in size most rapidly, and went down to meet them. 

And the Winter was done. 



FRAU A. D ” 


U 

T HE man stood before his wife; he was abso- 
lutely white with raging emotion. 
a My dear girl,” he said, in a voice that shook, 
“ you may go. You may go where you please. Do 
you hear ? ” 

His wife looked at him; she was white, too. 

“ I was going anyway,” she said bitterly. 66 Do 
you think for a minute that I would stay under your 

roof another hour after the insults ” 

“ Insults ! ” he cried sharply. 

“ Insults,” she repeated calmly — “ after the in- 
sults you have heaped on me this night? No, sir; I 
was going away — I decided to go this afternoon. 
You are unbearable. I won’t live with you a day 
longer. Thank heaven, I have my own money and 
am independent. Good-by.” She rose and started 
toward the door. 

He looked toward her, and felt a horrible grip at 
his throat as he did so. But his temper was both 
flint and steel, and he was silent. But — ah ! she was 
pausing — she was turning — perhaps — God ! — 
perhaps 

" This ring,” she said, coming toward him again, 
“ and this — and this ” — she was pulling them from 
her slender fingers as she spoke — “ and this — and 


302 “FRAU a. D.” 

this — you gave them all to me. I don’t want them 
any more.” 

“ Give them to the poor,” he said, roughly. “ I 
don’t want them, either.” 

She laid the little sparkling heap upon the table. 

“ I’m going abroad,” she said, without looking at 
him. “ I’m going to live there. I like it better there. 
Good-by.” 

She went toward the door again. His heart stood 
still once when she seemed to falter ; but she went on, 
opened the door, passed through, and it closed behind 
her. 

He found his voice that instant. 

“ Come back,” he cried, in a curious strangled call 
of unlimited pain. 

But she was gone. 

And he was alone — alone with the little pile of 
rings, the wedding ring, the betrothal solitaire, the 
birthday sapphire, the 

He went and locked the door quickly. And then 
he came back and sank down by the table and hid his 
face in his crossed arms, and his broad shoulders 
trembled as if — as if 

A month later, Isabelle had made good her word. 
She had gone back to Germany, taken an apartment 
in Hildesheim, secured a lady companion to protect 
her rather girlish gaze and ways, and settled down 
for the spring and summer. The change from Harry 
to Hildesheim was somewhat bewildering and at times 
almost took her breath away, but on the whole she 
felt positive that it was a relief, and she loved Ger- 
man people and adored afternoon coffee and evening 


“FRAU a. D.” 


303 


bread, so she got on nicely. She had friends in 
Hildesheim, young married women who had been her 
schoolmates in Hanover six years before, and they 
all took time to be nice to her, although their con- 
dolences over her situation were so sincere as to be 
absolutely trying. Isabelle had become a thorough 
cynic, but her thorough cynicism stopped short of 
trying to make a German wife and mother understand 
an American grass-widow. Lini, who had been her 
dearest friend in the pension days, was the proud 
possessor of four babies and of a husband whose 
cards bore the glorious inscription : 

“ Freiherr Emmo Groning 
“ Oberstleutnant z. D.” 

So Lini was a Frau Baronin now. 

“But what does 4 z. D.’ mean?” Isabelle asked, 
when they sat alone in the glass reception-room that 
overlooked the Sedanstrasse. 

“ It means 4 zur Disposition,’ ” said Lini, passing 
the cakes. 

“And what does 4 zur Disposition’ mean?” Isa- 
belle demanded, taking one of the puff-paste tarts. 

“ It means that he is in the military service ; 4 a. 
D.’ means 4 ausser Dienst,’ and means that an officer 
has withdrawn from the army for some reason.” 

Isabelle laughed. 44 1 am a 4 Frau a. D.,’ ” she 
exclaimed merrily. 44 What a joke!” 

But Lini did not see the joke — her eyes were 
misty. 

44 Perhaps it will all come right,” she murmured. 

44 But I don’t want it to come right,” the caller 
protested, 44 you have no idea how horrid he was. 


304 


“FRAU a. D.” 


He was so jealous that I couldn’t have a peaceful 
minute, and when men came to call — well, you 
ought to have heard him swear.” 

“ It is so sad that you have no children,” said Lini 
regretfully. “ All would have been well then. Chil- 
dren are the best.” 

“ I’m glad that I have none,” said Isabelle de- 
cidedly. “ What should I have done with children 
under the circumstances? It’s a dispensation of 
Providence that I have none.” 

Lini sighed heavily. Isabelle was incomprehen- 
sible. 

“ I’ll tell you what I would rather have than any 
number of children,” Isabelle continued, after a 
minute’s silence — “a horse, a good saddle-horse. 
Do you suppose that I could get one in Hildesheim ? ” 

“ I do not know,” said Lini. “ There are many 
that ride, but they all ride their own horses. I must 
ask my husband.” 

“ I should want a very good horse,” said Isabelle 
thoughtfully — “ one that can gallop miles. I want 
to ride every day.” 

“ But whom will you ride with? ” Lini asked, pour- 
ing out more coffee. 

“ I’ll ride alone.” 

The young Frau Baronin was quite startled. 

“ Alone ! But you cannot.” 

“ Why not? ” 

“ But no lady does it here. One must ride with 
one’s husband. Ach ! but you have no husband ! ” 
Then Lini sighed again — sighed heavily and with 
a deeply sympathetic intonation. 

“ There is a man on horseback, now,” said Isabelle, 


“FRAU a. D.” 


305 


allowing the sigh and the sympathy to pass over her 
insensibilities as lightly as water proverbially affects 
ducks’ backs. Lini turned and looked at the man on 
horseback. 

“ So sad,” she said. “ It is the young Herr Dokter 
Dorf — such a nice man — and his young wife died, 
and there are twins and three others, all motherless. 
Oh, Isabelle, if you had only not married that awful 
American, you could have perhaps married the Herr 
Dokter and been a mother to those dear little ones. 
And you would have had some of your own, too, I 
hope.” 

“ Do you think he would know where I could get 
a good horse?” asked Isabelle. 

“ I do not know,” said Lini. “ But he is such a 
nice man. His wife was so happy. It was a great 
pity that she must die.” 

“ Perhaps I could advertise in the newspaper,” the 
caller suggested. 

“ Yes, you could do that,” said Lini, pouring out 
more coffee ; “ but I will always ask my husband. I 
always ask my husband everything; I cannot see 
how you live without having your husband by to ask 
as to everything.” 

“ Perhaps, when I come to-morrow, the Herr 
Baron will have some information for me,” said Isa- 
belle, rising. “ I must go now. Don’t forget to find 
out all you can, will you, dear? ” 

“ No,” said Lini, embracing her affectionately. 
“ All that one can know my husband will know, and 
all that he tells me I will tell you.” 

Then they kissed each other, and Isabelle walked 
home, her head full of the horse, and her heart full 


306 


“FRAU a. D.” 


of an odd and painful void which she choked down 
whenever she choked up. Lini was so aggravatingly 
foolish on the husband subject. 

Lini spoke to her husband when he came home that 
late afternoon, and he reflected somewhat and then 
justified his wife’s ardent admiration of his omnis- 
cience by knowing exactly where Isabelle could “ be- 
come a horse,” as his countrymen put it. 

As a result of some careful arranging, Lini had 
the Frau Major to meet Isabelle over the coffee-cups 
the next day, and the Frau Major invited the Amer- 
ican to ride with her husband and herself and the 
Herr Leutnant upon the following afternoon. 

“We three ride together every day at four,” said 
the Frau Major, “ and it would be a great pleasure 
to have madame with us. Four is more agreeable 
than three.” 

“ Ah,” thought Isabelle, “ I am to take care of the 
husband for her; and she thinks that I do not see 
how it is,” and she looked at the rosy little woman 
sitting opposite — and felt a sudden quick beat of 
self-reproach, for the Frau Major’s eyes were as big 
and blue and true as a baby’s. “ That will be de- 
lightful,” she said aloud. “ I cannot thank you 
enough.” Then they talked it all over, and talked 
about some other things, and then Isabelle departed, 
because she was going to a concert at six o’clock. 

“ She is very agreeable,” said the Frau Major, 
when she and Lini were alone together. “ And what 
a beautiful figure! Is she a widow? ” 

“ No,” said Lini, uneasily ; “ it is one of those 
terrible American tales. She has a husband, but they 
have quarreled and she has left him.” 


“FRAU a. D.” 


307 

“Frightful!” said the Frau Major, opening her 
eyes largely. “ But why did he allow her to do so? 
I might be ever so angry, but my husband would 
never permit me to go to America for that. He will 
not permit me to go to Berlin until he goes, and that 
is not until the autumn.” Then the Frau Major 
smiled agreeably over her tale of woe, and took 
another cake. 

“ Yes, that is true,” said Lini, pouring some more 
coffee into her friend’s cup; “ it is very singular — 
that way they all do across the water. If it was my 
husband, I might be quite furious and still I could 
not go.” She took another cake. “ But then, also — 
I would not if I could. Am I not his wife? ” 

The Frau Major drank her final cup of coffee, and 
signified that she must depart. 

Lini kissed her on both cheeks, and, by dint of 
strong self-control, suffered her to terminate her call. 

The next day was the ride. Isabelle took a cab 
iand went to her horse; and there she saw a great 
row of carriages and automobiles, and quite a royal 
outfitting of white-lined stalls and liveried stable-men. 
The cab passed on to a door beyond, and she went 
upstairs and found the major and the lieutenant 
and the major’s wife having coffee before they 
started. The major was a stout, handsome, blond 
man, with a military mustache and splendidly fitting 
riding-breeches. The lieutenant was thin and dark 
and wiry. They all went down to the horses to- 
gether, after the contents of the coffee-pot had been 
duly absorbed, and Isabelle’s heart rose high when 
she saw their mounts brought out. Then in a second 


308 


“FRAU a. D.” 


every bit of sunshine faded, for the lieutenant walked 
over to his horse, put his hands on the saddle and 
gave it a quick pull to test its firmness — and the 
way he did it was exactly the way Harry had done 
every time that they had ridden together. It was 
too provoking the way that little incident clouded 
all the great joy; she felt out of spirits directly — 
but then the major aided her to mount Lisbeth, and 
once she was mounted on Lisbeth all domestic prob- 
lems faded. 

They rode out the Garten-strasse and across the 
Paraden-Platz, and then came the road to Gosler, 
the wide bridle-path, and the gallop. 

It was grand — it was glorious ! The pale-blue 
air, that made a delicate picture of the whole coun- 
tryside, was as sweet and sharp as hoar-frost crys- 
tals to breathe, and it seemed to circle in electrical 
swirls around the swiftness of Lisbeth and to fill the 
eyes and ears and spirit of Lisbeth’ s rider, who, draw- 
ing it into her lungs with great joyful gasps, cried to 
the major, riding there beside her, “ I am in heaven 
— in heaven ; ” and then she felt suddenly what it 
would be if Harry were there to hear her words — 
only, of course, she didn’t care. No, no — of course 
not. 

Three miles beyond, they turned into the woods 
and rode through brush and by-path to the top of 
the Galgenberg. From the Galgenberg one may see 
the Brocken — the Brocken of Faust where the 
witches dance on the night of the first of May. On 
the Galgenberg was found, some years ago, a won- 
derful treasure of silver plate which the Romans are 
supposed to have hidden there in an hour of dan- 


“FRAU a. D” 


309 


ger. But better than Brocken-view or silver-find is 
that which lies toward the Goslar side of the hill-top 
— a great level moor where riders may run their 
horses. When you have your hand on a bridle and 
your foot in a stirrup, such a moor is a better find 
and a better view than the gold of Golconda or the 
Mont Blanc piled up on its sister queens. 

They ranged themselves in line at the edge of 
the field, and then they “ let fly.” It approached 
flying in good earnest. The horses seemed to gather 
rebound out of the soft turf. They broke into a run, 
and then they lowered their heads and tore madly 
in great leaps for the opposite side. Isabelle put up 
her hand and drew her hat well down upon her fore- 
head, as she felt that Lisbeth felt for her — they 
were one in the wild exhilaration of those moments. 
It was grand, it was glorious ! It was ten times 
grand — a hundred times glorious. 

The Herr Maj or whistled — the horses quieted as 
if by magic. They slowed to a trot — slowed yet 
more to a walk — turned in their tracks, and halted 
motionless, panting. 

“ Well, do you like it? ” the Herr Major laughed. 
“ Good, is it not ? Shall we try it again ? ” 

“ A moment first,” cried the lieutenant. “ I must 
tighten a girth.” He threw himself from the saddle 
as he spoke, and caught his bridle on his arm. It was 
another trick of Harry’s, and Isabelle gasped. 

In one great flood it broke over her how utterly 
different everything — Lisbeth, moor, and life each 

day — would be, if — if — if 

“ Los ! ” cried the poor imitation of that very 
large and dark man whom she had deserted some 


S10 


“FRAU a. D.” 


weeks before, and free they flew over the gray moor 
— through the pale-blue air. 

The farther line of forest-trees was bounding 
nearer with every spring of Lisbeth’s lithe muscles, 
and her rider’s teeth were clinched with the nervous 
excitement of the minute, when suddenly — oh, the 
horror of it — the left fore-foot of the great brown 
mare went down into the treacherous hole of some 
burrowing creature, and Lisbeth, giving that ghastly 
shriek of a horse in agony, went forward on her 
shoulders with a sickening lunge. 

Who that rides much has ever been lucky enough 
never to have measured the possible terror of that 
second? 

Isabelle knew what had befallen — she knew she 
was loosed from the saddle — she felt herself in the 
air — before her vision rose death, and her husband’s 
face — it was all over, life and love — she cried his 
name with all her strength — and she felt herself 
being hurled into eternity. 

One day in midsummer she opened her eyes again. 
It was her own room, her own bed, only the trees were 
green and she had last seen them brown and bare. 

There was a pressure about her temples, and she 
put up her hand and found it was a bandage. Then 
it all came back to her, and with it the hungry 
heart-cry of that awful last instant of living memory. 
Hardly knowing that her thought was on her lips, 
she voiced it aloud. 

“ Harry ! ” she cried again, and though the sound 
was so feeble that she herself was surprised, still it 
was loud enough to be answered — and it was her 


311 


“FRAU a. D.” 

very own husband who appeared instantly in the 
doorway. 

They looked into each other’s eyes. 

“Well, girlie,” he said, biting his lip. His voice 
shook even more than it had shaken on the night of 
their parting, and the brown of his eyes was shining 
wet. 

“ Come to me,” she said, catching a little quick 
breath, and tried to hold out her hands, but found 
that one was bound down helpless. He caught the 
other in his own and fell on his knees beside the bed. 
“Darling — mine — my wife,” he stammered, and 
kissed her lips and her hand, and looked hungrily 
into her gaze. 

“ When did you come? ” she said faintly. 

“ The day you were hurt.” 

“ The day I was hurt ! ” she repeated in astonish- 
ment. 

“Yes, I — I left the second week after you did. 

I — I ” He halted. “ It was so infernally 

lonely,” he exclaimed, suddenly and fiercely. 

She smiled. That was such good news. 

“ I’m glad you came,” she said. “ Do you know, 
I’m ashamed to be here without a husband — it’s so 
un-German.” She laughed a tiny but very happy 
laugh as she spoke. 

“ It was all a hideous mistake,” he said. “ I know 
better now. I won’t be such a fool again.” 

“ It was partly my fault,” she protested gener- 
ously. “ But then, I don’t know, either. You 
mustn’t blame me for being pretty and attractive.” 

“ I don’t blame you at all,” said the man. “ I 
blame myself and myself alone.” 


312 


“FRAU a. D.” 


“ That’s so dear of you,” she said, with a smile, 
and then she closed her eyes and lay still for a few 
minutes. Then — 

“ Did you bring my rings or did you give them to 
the poor? ” she asked. 

“ I brought them,” he said. “ I have them in my 
pocket. May I put them on ? ” 

She smiled, and spread her fingers out upon his 
palm. He took the rings from his vest-pocket and 
put them on with kisses. 

“ You shall have a new one to celebrate to-day,” he 
said. “ A ruby and a topaz — Hildesheim’s colors.” 

She smiled — her eyes closed as her lips parted. 
“ I’m so sleepy,” she murmured. “ But don’t leave 
me.” 

He bent his head near. 

“ I won’t,” he declared. “ Never again,” he added. 
She smiled a little, and turned her face to rest upon 
the pillow; he rested there beside her with her hand 
in his. He thought that she was asleep, when sud- 
denly he felt her turn quickly. 

“ Oh, Harry,” she exclaimed, “ in my desk is my 
card-case — get me a card. I want to write a mes- 
sage to Lini, at once, without delay.” 

He went and brought the card. 

“ Can I write it for you? ” he asked. 

“ Yes, you must — I have only my left hand. It’s 
very short. Just put a small ‘ z ’ and a large ‘ D ’ 
after the name, that’s all.” 

“ A small 6 z ’ and a large 4 D.’ ” He spoke as if 
he did not understand. 

“ It means something in German, dear,” said his 
wife, a little smile quivering about her lips. “ Lini 


“FRAU a. D.” 


313 

will understand even if you don’t. Please put it in 
an envelope and have them send it to her at once.” 

Lini, pouring coffee for her husband that after* 
noon, laughed with joy over the card. 

“ How delightful ! ” she said. “ Isn’t that quite 
like Isabelle? She is always thinking something 
different from any one else. And her husband, he is 
quite delightful, too. Really, I think he loves her 
as well as you do me.” 

“ Possibly,” said the Herr Baron. “ And now, 
my dear child, bring me my afternoon paper.” 

Lini’s face flushed with pleasure ; she sprang from 
her seat and flew to obey. 

Being married ! — what is there like it ? 



“EE,” SAID ’LIZ ABET — “EE,” 
SAID HANS 



HE wagon was long and low and narrow. It 


JL had very high sides — so high that the calf 
could see nothing at all. It had a hard wooden seat 
— so hard that when a wheel struck a stone and 
’Lizabet, seated on the right, bounced vigorously to 
the left, the casual observer would have taken a pain- 
ful result for granted. But the casual observer would 
have been wrong (unless while observing ’Lizabet he 
had been considering the calf), for nothing so slight 
as a stone that sent her six inches into the air and 
slammed her down a foot to the left or right, as the 
case might be, ever caused ’Lizabet to rein in. If 
the calf had been driving it might have been differ- 
ent, for the calf was certainly far from happy. But 
then the calf had been a calf for a comparatively 
short period, and probably worldly experience, as 
personified by the day’s ride, was an absolute neces- 
sity in his character’s development. 

’Lizabet had been ’Lizabet for thirty-two years. 
Given ’Lizabet’s life for these thirty-two years, plus 
her parents’ individual peculiarities of face and race, 
and minus everything that has made the reader of 
these lines able and willing to read them, and you 
have the peasant-woman’s whole being distinctly be- 
fore you. From earliest childhood she had done with 


316 


“EE,” SAID ’LIZABET 


commendable vigor whatever task lay before her ; for 
nearly the whole period of her thirty-two years’ span 
she had milked and churned, and plowed and seeded, 
and reaped and harvested, and spun and washed, with 
just the same energy that was now bouncing the calf 
to market; it was beautiful to see in this age of 
“ storm and stress,” and striving and problems, a 
soul so free from all four forms of mental woe; ’Liza- 
bet had never even had a love affair, having inherited 
her father’s nose — a nose which would not prevent 
a man from marrying, but which would surely pre- 
vent nine hundred and ninety-nine women out of a 
thousand from ever getting their feet set in the path 
that leads toward hopes of such a future. 

Bounce, they went over another stone ! 

“ Ee ! ” said ’Lizabet, not because she minded, but 
simply because “ Ee ” was her favorite remark alone 
and in company. The calf, who had been trying to 
adjust one of his eyes to a knot-hole to the end that 
he might form some slight conception of what life 
in town meant, suddenly found his nose sadly bumped, 
and cried “ E-e-e ” on his own hook. 

Just then they came on to the cobblestones, and 
all that had gone before was as nothing compared 
to the shaking up that took place until they stopped 
at the “ Golden Angel ” to leave the horse. 

The “ Golden Angel ” had been an inn since long 
before Frederick the Great had slept there one night 
when he couldn’t manage to get anywhere else. The 
landlord shows his room yet, and during the two hun- 
dred years since the event quite a few toilet articles 
used by the great king have accumulated in the room ; 
two match-boxes, and a shaving-cup bearing Queen 


“EE,” SAID ’LIZABET 


317 


Victoria’s portrait, are among these touching sou- 
venirs. (All this en 'passant .) 

The landlord’s wife was in the courtyard whipping 
her youngest son. When she saw ’Lizabet drive in 
she let the boy go unfinished, and went herself to 
welcome her guest. Between them they lifted the calf 
out, and the landlord’s wife asked if it was for the 
butcher. 

“ Nein,” said ’Lizabet, and she stood off and gazed 
on the calf as affectionately as if she had not been 
half-banging his breath out for an hour. 

“ And how well you are looking ! ” said the wife, 
mindful of what it behooves a landlord’s wife to say, 
without reference to whether a guest has inherited 
her father’s nose or not. 

“ Ee,” said ’Lizabet indifferently, and she took the 
calf in hand and started off without paying any at- 
tention to the fact that the calf had just been facing 
in the opposite direction. 

It was market-day, and the market was out in great 
force in the angle between the Rathaus and the An- 
dreaskirche. The market was very lively, much more 
lively than usual, and ’Lizabet, leading her calf, 
joined the hubbub with sensations as blithesome as 
her Slavic ancestry would permit her to feel. 

Frau Gruber saw the newcomer first. Frau Gruber 
was the oldest and fattest of all the market-women, 
the dean of the community, so to speak. 

“ Ee, ’Lizabet,” she cried, nodding freely. 

’Lizabet halted. The calf, too. (Although the 
calf had meant to go on until he felt his restric- 
tions.) 

“ Hast heard, ’Lizabet? ” Frau Gruber was big- 
eyed. 


318 


“EE,” SAID ’LIZABET 


“ Nein,” said ’Lizabet. 

“ Wait thou, then,” said the Frau, and then she 
raised her gray dress skirt and revealed a blue petti- 
coat, raised her blue petticoat and revealed a red 
one, raised her red petticoat and revealed a black 
one, investigated the black one somewhat and found 
her pocket. When her hand sank into the pocket a 
beatific expression overspread Frau Gruber’s counte- 
nance — no one had ever robbed her, and yet she 
always underwent a certain anxious strain when she 
sought her pocket. Life is notably a deception, and 
who can be sure of anything? But now her hand 
was in the pocket, and the next second her pocket- 
book was in her hand. 

’Lizabet stood waiting. She waited, as she did 
all else, with great vigor. The only way one can 
betray vigor in waiting is by breathing hard, and 
’Lizabet puffed like a motor while Frau Gruber 
opened her pocketbook and showed — a lottery 
ticket ! 

“ To-day ? ” said ’Lizabet, opening her own eyes. 

“ To-day,” said Frau Gruber. 

“ Ee,” said ’Lizabet. 

Just then a lady stopped to buy two cents’ worth 
of onions, a cent’s worth of parsley, and a quarter of 
a cent’s worth of mustard-seed. Frau Gruber begged 
’Lizabet to guard her purse while she attended to 
the lady, for she was one of her best customers. 
Then after the purchase was made and the change 
settled, and Frau Gruber had asked after the lady’s 
husband, and the lady had asked after Frau Gruber’s 
foot, she went away and ’Lizabet gave back the 
purse. 


“EE,” SAID ’LIZABET 


319 


“ Thou shouldst also a ticket become,” said Frau 
Gruber, in as friendly a tone as if it were possible 
for them each to draw the one grand prize. 

“ Ee,” said ’Lizabet musingly. She was thinking 
the same thing. 

“ A great chance,” said Frau Gruber. 

“ Ee,” said ’Lizabet. 

Just then Hans Muller, the butcher, came up. 

“ Ee, ’Lizabet,” he said, “a beautiful calf!” 

“ For thee, perhaps,” suggested Frau Gruber. 

“ Nein,” said ’Lizabet. 

Hans paused. I wish I could describe him, but he 
was too homely. Literature should elevate, and a 
good description of Hans Muller would depress any 
one. 

“ What for not? ” said Hans, eying the calf long- 
ingly. 

“ Ee,” said ’Lizabet. She rarely committed her- 
self hastily. 

“ I advise her a ticket to become,” said Frau 
Gruber, beginning to replace her own ticket in her 
own safety deposit. 

“ Yes, that she must do,” said Hans. 

’Lizabet looked at him. No man had ever said 
“ must ” to her before, and it sounded subtly sweet 
through such feminine fibers of feeling as the cob- 
blestones had not completely deadened. Frau 
Gruber saw ’Lizabet’s look. She was a born match- 
maker. 

“ Thou, Hans, get her one,” she said. 

Hans hesitated. Strikingly ugly men are rarely 
ever rushingly gallant. 

“ I will show her where she can buy it herself,” 
he said. 


320 “EE,” SAID ’LIZABET 

“ Miser,” said Frau Gruber — “ thou who art 
alone in the world with a good trade! Wherefore 
shouldst thou not buy one who is poor a ticket? 
Ever is it thy cousin’s brother-in-law who is the 
agent.” 

Right here was the turning-point in our dear 
’Lizabet’s career. 

’Lizabet started. Not violently, but solidly. 
When one’s heart has just been stirred for the first 
time one does not relish being belittled in the eyes 
of what may be going to be the beloved object. ’Liz- 
abet was a woman, after all. 

“ Ee,” she cried hotly, “ I am no poor one ; I 
have brought three thousand marks to the bank ! ” 

There was a deep and thrilling hush at this, for 
no one in the whole countryside had ever had the 
remotest suspicion that ’Lizabet had so thriven. 

Frau Gruber gasped. Hans stared. Even the 
calf felt the electrical shock of surprise, and gave 
a wild skip. 

Hans spoke first. 

“ I will buy the ticket,” he said ; “ come.” 

But Frau Gruber interposed; she had just re- 
membered a widowed brother in Dettingen. 

“ Needs not,” she said, catching ’Lizabet by the 
hand, “ I will give her mine. She is also dear to me.” 

“ Come,” said Hans. He seized the other hand 
as he spoke. ’Lizabet stood extended between them 
like the old woodcuts of “ A Soul in Doubt.” 

“ Ee,” said ’Lizabet. 

“ Thou, ’Lizabet,” said Frau Gruber, “ bethink 
thee ” 

But Hans interrupted. 


“EE” SAID ’LIZABET 


321 


“ Come, my ’Lizabetchen,” he said. 

My gracious goodness, the effect of that “ my ” 
and that “ chen ” ! ’Lizabet would have followed 
him — anywhere. She jerked away from Frau 
Gruber, and she and the calf and Hans went off 
together. Frau Gruber looked after them and shook 
her head. Hans and ’Lizabet, hand in hand, and 
chaperoned by nothing more wily than a calf (also 
in hand) was indeed a sad sight for the sister-in-law 
of a widower in Dettingen. 

“ Willst thou have some sir op? ” asked Hans. 

’Lizabet could hardly realize that she was herself. 
She had always provided her own sirop heretofore, 
and it must be stated that she had provided so little 
that unbought sirop had helped materially in the 
swelling of her bank account. 

“ Ee,” she said affirmatively. 

Hans led her through the narrow Judenstrasse 
into the Johannes plat z. There was there a small 
and quiet restaurant fenced in behind two ivy 
screens, and two soldiers were drinking peacefully 
at a small table within the enclosure. 

“ I will tie the calf,” said Hans. “ Sit, thou.” 

’Lizabet sat forthwith. It was so novel to be or- 
dered about — so womanly and delightful, too. Life 
was changing its meaning completely. She reflected 
on Hans’ likeness to King Otto over the Stadhaus 
door, and did not know that it was the rains of three 
centuries and the missile of one ardent reformer 
which had produced the striking resemblance. 

When Hans came back he pounded on the match- 
safe and called, “ Ho, two sirop! ” ’Lizabet could 
but admire the way he pounded and the way he 
called. 


322 


“EE,” SAID ’LIZABET 


“ In what bank is thj gold ? ” he said then. 

“ In the Dettingen Bank,” said ’Lizabet. 

“ A good bank,” said Hans. 

“ Ee,” said ’Lizabet, and felt a warm current of 
joy at his approval. 

Then the sirop came, and they drank it. 

“ Seest thou,” said Hans, “ I have a lottery 
ticket; I give it to thee.” He pushed it across the 
table as he spoke. ’Lizabet took the ticket. The 
sirop was pleasant to her taste. She had a vision 
of Hans smoking his pipe while she chopped wood 
and her eyes filled with tears, — sweet, mystic tears. 

“ Ee, Hans,” she said, looking at him. 

He put out his hand and shook hers. 

“I shall become the calf — shall I not?” he 
asked. 

She looked at him with swimming eyes. Anything 
that was hers was his. Oh, how like King Otto he 
looked! And he had ears, too, which King Otto had 
not — not for a century and a half, anyhow. 

Oh, yes, he could have the calf. 

“ Ee,” she told him, nodding. 

Hans pounded for more sirop , and they drank two 
more glasses. The soldiers were gone now. 

“ Dost love me? ” asked Hans. 

“ Ee,” confessed ’Lizabet, and they shook hands 
again across the table. 

Then they sat quiet for some time. Hans was 
thinking agreeable thoughts concerning the Dettin- 
gen Bank, and ’Lizabet was thinking agreeable 
thoughts concerning things of which she had here- 
tofore never thought at all. 

The first thing they knew both were asleep. It 


323 


“EE,” SAID ’LIZABET 

was the landlord picking up the glasses that woke 
them. 

“ Ee,” said Hans, yawning vastly. 

“ Ee,” said ’Lizabet, looking tenderly down his 
throat. 

“We are betrothed,” stated Hans emphatically. 

’Lizabet felt numbly ecstatic. 

“ Come,” said Hans ; “ we must back with the 
calf.” 

“ Ee,” said ’Lizabet. She was anxious to tell 
Frau Gruber. 

“ I will leave thee here,” said Hans, at the first 
corner ; “ I want to put the calf in surety.” 

’Lizabet went on alone. The whole market was 
a-hum with the news of her wealth when she arrived 
there. It was the pleasantest experience of her life. 
All had something agreeable to say, and Freda, the 
butter-woman’s daughter, asked if she needed help 
in her house, and courtesied when she said it. 

“ Nein,” said ’Lizabet, but the sight of a courtesy 
directed at herself filled her with more new emotions. 

“ I hope that dumbhead Hans bought you a 
ticket,” said Frau Gruber in a rather acid tone. 

“ Ee,” said ’Lizabet. She did not resent Hans 
being designated as a “ dumbhead.” Her repose of 
spirit was quite above such trivial matters. 

“ My brother-in-law from Dettingen is coming 
Sunday,” went on Frau Gruber. “ You must cer- 
tainly come and walk with us in the fields.” 

“ Ee,” said ’Lizabet. She saw no reason why she 
should not walk in the fields. There was a pause. 

“ There comes that fellow,” said Frau Gruber. 

’Lizabet looked around and saw Hans. 


324 


“EE” SAID ’LIZABET 


“ We are betrothed,” she told her friend. 

Frau Gruber threw up both hands. 

“ Ach Gott — ach Gott — ach Gott ! ” she cried. 

The women came running from all around. 

“ We are betrothed,” said ’Lizabet to all. Hans 
stood behind her and said nothing. His face was 
inflexible. He was not even Slavic — he was pure 
Stone Age, through and through. Every one was 
crowding about them. ’Lizabet’s hands were shaken 
from all directions. 

Then of a sudden a man came hastening out of 
the Gewerbehaus ; in his hand was a paper. He 
waved it. It was the lottery returns. 

“ Ach Gott — ach Gott — ach Gott ! ” said Frau 
Gruber. She pressed her ticket to her heart. It was 
beating violently. Her other hand sought ’Liza- 
bet’s. The man began to take a paper out of an 
envelope. ’Lizabet herself was conscious of a swim- 
mingness in some not very distinctly outlined quar- 
ter of her being. Frau Gruber sat down. “ Hold 
thou my ticket,” she told ’Lizabet. ’Lizabet took 
her ticket. 

’Lizabet felt Frau Gruber leaning heavily against 
her. Hans took the ticket from her; he was hold- 
ing hers in his other hand. 

The man read the number — “ 89204 ! ” 

Frau Gruber gave a shriek. Hans held ’Lizabet’s 
ticket high in the air. 

“ 89204 ! ” he called loudly. 

“ But that — ” began ’Lizabet. 

But she never said more. Hans gave her a look 
that reduced her to “ Ee ” again. 

And poor Frau Gruber was gone. Dead of the 


“EE,” SAID ’LIZABET 


325 


shock of the disappointment. You can imagine the 
confusion in the market. 

Along toward dusk ’Lizabet drove home with Hans 
and the calf. They did not talk much, for their 
natures were not of that species which demand much 
conversational outlet. 

“We shall be married now,” said Hans. 

“ Ee,” said ’Lizabet. 

“ I shall send Frau Gruber a wreath,” said Hans. 

“ Ee,” said ’Lizabet. 

“ We owe her much,” said Hans. 

“ Ee,” said ’Lizabet. 

“ Ee,” said Hans himself. And spoke no more. 



ALPINE LIGHTS AND 
SHADOWS 


u \ T J HAT will it be — will it be goats like those 
VV of yesterday ? ” 

Little Marie’s sweet face was upturned to Jean’s, 
even though Jean was too engaged with his work to 
glance into the earnest question of his companion’s 
eyes. 

44 They were so pretty yesterday — those goats. 
They ran along together just as the real goats run. 
Will it be more goats — that? ” 

She laid her tiny forefinger upon the long rough 
piece of wood that the boy held in his hand, and he 
had to stay his knife-blade for fear of cutting her. 

44 No,” he said, a little smiling and a little im- 
patient, 44 not goats, Mariechen. Guess again ; and 
take thy hand away.” 

Marie took her hand away and folded it into the 
keeping of her other hand. She always obeyed Jean 
instantly because her five years revered his twelve 
years in a way that never permitted any delay in 
such matters. But her great blue eyes continued 
riveted on his work. 

44 Will it be hens ? ” she asked presently. 44 Last 
week it was hens. All crowding about the big open 
pan to eat ; dost remember ? Will it be hens, J ean ? ” 


328 ALPINE LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 

“ No, not hens,” said the boy, turning the wood 
deftly this way and that and laying many notches 
in its roughness, each notch with its own especial 
foresight of meaning, “ not hens, Mariechen ; pa- 
tience.” 

The little child clasped her hands yet tighter and 
strove to keep silence. She was a very wee thing, 
small and delicate and fragile as a flower, clothed in 
the plain, stout garments of the country mode, her 
pretty face instinct with shadow and sunbeam. 

Jean was of another blood and quality, darker and 
with something hot pulsing nervously behind his 
dogged patience. There was a strong contrast 
between the compression of his full lips and the parted 
lines of those of his companion. 

“ Will it be rabbits ? ” she said now, leaning close 
again ; “ it was rabbits once, and they were so 

pretty.” 

He shook his head shortly and made no answer. 

“Do I trouble?” the little thing asked then 
anxiously. 

He did not reply. 

She looked steadily into his face for a minute or 
two, and then she said almost in a whisper : 

“ Will it be sheep, perhaps ? ” 

He laid down his knife at that and put his arm 
around her and hugged her up close to him. She 
sighed a long, happy, baby sigh, and they sat still 
thus for a few minutes. 

The small cemetery was behind them with its hum- 
ble array of poor crosses of wood standing none too 
straightly among lichen-covered stones. Behind the 
cemetery was a slope of barrenness, behind that a 


ALPINE LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 329 


band of pine forest, behind that the towering moun- 
tain side. To their left was the village, a straggling 
village, a village of little Swiss mountain huts gath- 
ered around three or four slightly pretentious build- 
ings. Below them was a long sinuous valley with a 
silver river threading its middle. Beyond — across 
the valley — rose a line of Alpine giants. 

The boy, hugging the child within the protection 
of his strong left arm, looked, with an appreciation 
and understanding beyond his years, over the scene 
before him. As he did so he slowly opened and closed 
the fingers that had been handling the knife, as if to 
ease their cramped fatigue. 

66 Mariechen,” he said presently, “ I will tell you 
all about it.” 

“ Yes.” Her face turned up toward his at once. 
“ Will it be rabbits, then? ” 

“ No,” he said, looking away toward the moun- 
tains, “ it will be cows ; many cows, all following 
toward the pasturing on the slope. I saw such yes- 
terday, and I meant then to do them to-day. Let 
me tell you why. You know old Wilhelm at the store 
close by where the trains stop down in the valley ? ” 
“ Yes,” said the child. 

“ He has promised me a whole franc for every such 
that I bring him. Fancy, Mariechen, a whole franc ! ” 
His eyes deepened and brightened ; the child stared 
wonderingly. 

“ What canst thou do with a whole franc, Jean? ” 
“ What can I do with it? I can save it, and add 
another to it and another to that, and after a while 
— after a long, long while — I can take them all, 
and cross the mountains, and go into Italy, there on 


330 ALPINE LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 

the other side, and study and learn to carve in marble 
instead of wood.” 

The child turned her eyes downward and big tears 
gathered thick in them. Her head slipped from its 
place beneath his arm and rested on his knee. For 
some little while he continued to gaze on the moun- 
tain peaks, and then of a sudden he reached again for 
his carving and said: 

“ Lift thy head, Mariechen. I must go on work- 
ing, and I might cut thee.” 

Possibly Mariechen, in spite of her extreme youth, 
was feminine enough to have preferred risking injury 
to removing her head just then ; but Jean was mascu- 
line enough to back up his command with a certain 
impatient gesture, and so she sat up, looked the other 
way, and absorbed some tears by winking fast — a 
trick we nearly all learn young. 

While she was still seeing the universe as a lurid 
and watery kaleidoscope of blue and green, a sudden 
patch of black broke in among the colors, and the 
child, who had been born by the edge of the cemetery, 
knew what it was. They came so often across her 
field of vision — those patches of black — and the 
kind old priest, who had taught her her prayers, had 
also taught her just what they meant. She forgot 
her tears and looked with wide-eyed reverence upon 
the cortege approaching, for she knew that that day 
a new angel had entered God’s heaven and that all 
sorrow was over and only joy was left for some one 
who had once been as others of the earth. 

“ It is the English lady,” said Jean quickly under 
his breath. 

Marie knew just whom he meant. The English 


ALPINE LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 331 

lady had come up there to live many months since and 
had had all the best rooms across the front of the 
Gasthof. The English gentleman had come with her, 
and walked by her wheeled chair as long as she was 
wheeled out daily, and had sat by her on the balcony 
after she had ceased to be wheeled out any more. 
They saw him now walking there beside the priest, 
looking just as he always had looked. In his hand 
he had some white flowers such as he had been in the 
habit of buying each morning in the market. He 
looked at Marie and smiled on her just as he had 
always smiled. She returned the smile. Jean had 
put his wood-carving aside until the little procession 
should be gone by. The sun was shining and the 
birds were calling among themselves. It seemed as 
if the world was just trying to go on as usual and yet 
was really a little different because of the English 
lady’s passing. 

Presently the children were alone again. 

‘ ‘ They will return the other way ; they always 
do,” said Jean, and resumed his work. 

Marie sat by him in silence for a long hour and 
watched the cows grow one by one into being. Like 
magic their horns sprouted upward, their ears came 
out underneath, their noses took on shape, out of the 
solid mass a quartet of legs divided themselves off 
for each one ; it was all but a miracle to observe what 
Jean could do. 

A shadow fell forward from behind them. Both 
looked up quickly and saw the English gentleman. 
He had his hat drawn down over his eyes, and had 
left the flowers in the cemetery, but he smiled as usual 
into their faces. 


332 ALPINE LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 


“ Well, how goes it? ” he said cheerfully in good 
French, and then he came around beside them and 
sat down on the ground. 

“ It goes very well, sir,” said Jean. 

He stopped his work as he spoke and looked from 
it to the English gentleman, being somewhat uncer- 
tain as to just what the latter had meant by his 
question. But the gentleman, whatever he had 
meant, had certainly not meant any reference to the 
carving, for he looked far away across the moun- 
tains, dragged at his heavy yellow mustache, and 
said nothing more for a long time. Jean, after two 
or three furtive glances, went on with his work, and 
Marie sat still between the two, looking first at one 
and then at the other. 

After a while the English gentleman, with a long, 
deep breath, ceased to gaze across the valley, and 
turned toward the children. 

“ Listen,” he said, “ I want something done ; will 
you do it? ” 

46 What is it? ” said Jean. 

“ Not you,” said the gentleman. “ It is the little 
girl that I am asking.” He took Marie’s hand as he 
spoke, and drew her close to him. 

“ What is it ? ” she asked. 

“ You know the white flowers that I buy each day 
in the market,” said the gentleman, his brows con- 
tracting strangely. 

“ Yes,” said Marie ; “ it is Bettina who sells them 
to you.” 

“ Yes,” said the gentleman, “ I fancy so.” He 
stopped and bit his lip, then, “ I am going away,” 
he said. “ I am going now — to-night — God 


ALPINE LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 333 

knows where — or if I shall ever return.” He drew 
Marie closer as he spoke. “Little child,” he said, 
“ I have left money, plenty of money, with the good 
Pere Lorenz at the church, and he will give it to you 
when you ask it. I want you to go to the market 
each day and buy all the white flowers that Bettina 
has — all, you hear — and bring them up here to 
the cemetery, and cover the new grave with them. 
Cover it just as they fall from your little fingers — 
what any one else wishes or advises does not matter 
— some one will clear yesterday’s away each morn- 
ing before you come — only never fail to come. 
And when thou art come to womanhood there will 
be a reward for thy pains awaiting thee.” 

He put his face down close to hers as he spoke the 
last words and she felt a curious throbbing where 
her little form touched his bosom — then he put her 
gently from him and rose. 

“ Do not remind her,” he said, speaking to Jean 
now. “ She is of those who do not forget.” Then 
he covered his eyes with his hand, turned from them, 
and walked away. 

Marie looked after him until he was out of sight 
and then she turned and saw that Jean was motion- 
less and staring also. 

“ And I am to go each day and bring the flowers 
for the English lady’s grave ! ” the little girl said 
slowly and wonderingly ; “ what will the mother say 
to that ! ” 

“ She will say nothing,” said Jean. “ If the Pere 
Lorenz has the money, it means that it is right for 
you to do it.” 

“ And when I am a woman he will return to 


334 ALPINE LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 


thank me,” said the child, still slowly, still wonder- 
ingly. 

“ He said so,” said the boy. 

Then he took up his work again, and the child sat 
still at his side and thought. 


II 


I T was ten years after that, one autumn afternoon, 
the Pere Lorenz, pacing the narrow path between 
the double row of mounds in the little graveyard, saw 
Marie approaching with her armful of white blos- 
soms. 

Ten years is a long time. It bows the head and 
stoops the shoulders and whitens the hair of the 
elderly, be he priest or layman ; it carries a child of 
five straight forward into womanhood, and deepens 
the blue of her eyes, and their trust and their shad- 
ows; it carries boys of artistic bent out into the 
world afar and away. 

Marie approached the grave which had never been 
marked other than by that daily coverlet of pure 
white flowers, and, smiling as she noted the kind face 
of the old priest turned her way, proceeded to her 
task. As the flowers fell from her fingers the Pere 
Lorenz approached and stood by her side. 

“ Child,” he said gently, 44 it is now ten years since 
the English seigneur set thee this work. Hast never 
wearied? ” 

44 Oh, no, father,” said the young girl, 44 rather 
have I come to love it more and more as I came to 
understand.” Her lip quivered somewhat as she 
spoke the last words. 


336 ALPINE LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 

“ Dost think to understand? ” 

“ I have dared to think so.” 

“ How so, my child? ” 

“ He loved her ” 

“ Yes,” said the priest as she hesitated. 

“ As I also love,” she added, almost sadly. 

“ Yes,” said the priest again. 

“ Father ” — the last of the flowers had fallen 
to the ground now; she turned toward him empty- 
handed — “I had a letter from Jean yesterday. He 
is in Florence. He is very poor; he hardly has 
bread.” 

“ So ! ” said the old priest. 

“ I have sent him all I can spare, but it is so little 
— so very little. And now he is working on a great 
piece — and if he might only finish it — ” She fal- 
tered and stopped. 

“ Go on,” said the priest. 

“ Father, you told me once that when I came to 
marry, you had my dot — that the English gentle- 
man left it in your hands years ago — when he went 
away ” 

“ Go on,” said the priest again. 

“ Father, I shall never marry — never. Give Jean 
the money.” 

The priest looked at her young, passionate face, 
and a faint, sad smile swept over his own. 

“ Very well,” he said, “ I will send him the money ; 
since you are so sure that you will never marry.” 

She turned a little pale, but, “ I am very sure,” 
she said simply. 

The next day the money was sent. 

When the snow came that winter the stranger, the 


ALPINE LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 337 

English gentleman, returned. He wore a long heavy 
coat, and with him were two other gentlemen and 
three servants. In the Gasthof the waiter who served 
the party told that when the seigneur took off his 
coat he showed that one arm had been shot away. 
Also he had a bit of color in his buttonhole that 
meant much. Evidently the ten years had counted 
in his life. 

The Pere Lorenz came to the Gasthof, and the 
English gentleman put on his heavy coat and walked 
with him to the cemetery. 

“ There will be a stone now,” he said, pulling his 
mustache quite as he used to do as they drew near. 
“You have heard, perhaps?” 

“ No,” said the good priest, “ I have heard noth- 
ing. Pray tell me.” 

“ I had it put in competition in Florence,” said the 
English gentleman ; “ the prize went to a young 
sculptor of this region. He must have a wondrous 
talent. It is the child, the little girl, done to the life, 
scattering flowers at the foot of the cross. You, 
perhaps, know the young man.” 

“ I can guess who it is,” said the good priest. 
“ God be praised for his success.” 

“ There is to be no name upon the cross,” said the 
English gentleman. “ In her death as in her life I 
shall ever respect her slightest wishes.” A dull red 
flushed his face as he said the words. 

The priest said nothing. 

“ There was one thing that made me very happy 
there in Florence,” the English gentleman continued 
presently ; “ it was that the winning in the competi- 
tion permitted the young sculptor to marry.” 


338 ALPINE LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 

P&re Lorenz turned suddenly. 

“ To marry ! ” he repeated, as if perhaps he had 
not heard quite correctly. 

“ Yes, to marry,” said the English gentleman. 
“ He married almost directly — the next day, I 
think.” 

“ Yes,” said the priest, a little numbly — “ yes.” 

They turned into the cemetery. The autumnal 
sun was very bright. The stranger walked directly 
toward the mound that was, as ever, white with moun- 
tain flowers. 

“ I was almost young when I came here last,” he 
said. “ O God ! how well I recall that day ! 99 

The priest was silent; his thoughts were far away. 

“ And the child? ” asked the stranger, “ the little 
one with the wonderful eyes? What has become of 
her ? 99 

“ She lives with her parents, as ever.” 

“ She has never married? 99 

“ Monsieur, she is as yet barely sixteen.” 

“ Ah, so,” said the stranger, “ and yet I thought 
that sixteen was womanhood here. Well, her day is 
yet to come.” 

The priest bowed his head. In his ears sounded 
the passionate appeal of the young girl’s, voice, 
“ Father, I shall never marry. Give Jean the money.” 

“ Monsieur,” he said suddenly, “ I must tell you 
the truth. Her day has come and gone.” 

The English gentleman stopped short. 

“ You mean she is dead? ” 

“No, monsieur; she loved the young artist, and 
sent him her dot that he might remain in Florence 
for the competition.” 


ALPINE LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 339 


The English gentleman looked straight down at 
the ground for a little. His face was dark, and he 
bit his lip hard. 

“ Father,” he said at last, “ when I came here 
twelve years ago, what was thought P ” 
u Much was thought,” said the priest. 

The stranger turned sharply from him. 

“ Oh, Alpine lights and shadows,” he murmured, 
and covered his eyes with his hand. 


THE END- 



A Masterpiece of Native Humor 


SUSAN CLEGG AND HER 
FRIEND MRS. LATHROP 


By ANNE WARNER 
Author of “ A Woman’s Will,” etc. 

With Frontispiece. 227 pages. 12mo. $1.00. 

I T is seldom a book so full of delightful humor comes 
before the reader. Anne Warner takes her place in the 
circle of American woman humorists, who have achieved 
distinction so rapidly within reoent years. — Brooklyn Eagle. 

Nothing better in the new homely philosophy style of 
Action has been written. — San Francisco Bulletin. 

Anne Warner has given us the rare delight of a book 
that is extremely funny. Hearty laughter is in store for 
every reader. — Philadelphia Public Ledger. 

Susan is a positive contribution to the American char- 
acters in Action . — Brooklyn Times. 

Susan Clegg is a living creature, quite as amusing and 
even more plausible than Mrs. Wiggs. Susan’s human 
weaknesses are endearing, and we And ourselves in sym- 
pathy with her. — New York Evening Post. 

No more original or quaint person than she has ever 
lived in Action. — Newark Advertiser. 


LITTLE, BROWN, & CO., Publishers, BOSTON 


At all Booksellers' 


Another Popular “ Susan Clegg ” Book 


SUSAN CLEGG AND 
HER NEIGHBORS’ AFFAIRS 


By ANNE WARNER 

With frontispiece. 12mo. Cloth, $1.00 

All the stories brim over with quaint humor, caustic 
sarcasm, and concealed contempt for male folk and matri- 
monial chains. — Philadelphia Ledger. 

Anything more humorous than the “ Susan Clegg ” stories 
would be hard to find. — Jeannette L. Gilder, Editor of 
Putnam's Magazine. 

The best work that Anne Warner has published. Miss 
Clegg has become an institution in the humor of America. 
— Baltimore Sun. 

Her “ Susan Clegg ” stories, rich in pungent humor and 
extremely clever in their portrayal of quaint and amusing 
character, deserve a place among the choice specimens of 
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found in “ Susan Clegg and Her Friend Mrs. Lathrop ” one 
of the most genuinely humorous books ever written by a 
woman on this side of the Atlantic. — St. Louis Globe- 
Democrat. 


LITTLE, BROWN, & CO., Publishers 
254 Washington Street, Boston 


The Third Susan Clegg Book 


SUSAN CLEGG AND A 
MAN IN THE HOUSE 

By ANNE WARNER 

Finely Illustrated by Alice Barber Stephens 
12mo. Cloth, $1.50 


Without the slightest doubt the best of all the Susan 
Clegg books. — Cleveland Leader. 

A smile on every page and many hearty laughs to each 
chapter. — Philadelphia Telegraph. 

Her “Susan Clegg” books rank with the best in Ameri- 
can humorous literature. — Nashville American. 

Susan’s homely humor is of as excellent a quality as 
when she first came to public ken. — Brooklyn Times. 

Miss Clegg’s experiences with a male boarder, as here 
recorded, are to be recommended heartily to people who 
may have found refreshment in “Three Men in a Boat” 
or the sea worthies of W. W. Jacobs. — Nation , New York. 

It is a rare pleasure to find a book so wholesome, so 
amusingly philosophical, and so full of the real quality of 
things that last. Susan is a positive joy, and the reading 
world owes Anne Warner a vote of thanks for her contri- 
bution to the best of American humor. — New York Times. 


LITTLE, BROWN, & CO., Publishers 
254 Washington Street, Boston 


New Edition with Pictures from the Play 


THE REJUVENATION 
OF AUNT MARY 

By ANNE WARNER 

Author of “ Susan Clegg and Her Friend Mrs. Lathrop ,** 
“ A Woman's Will" etc. 

Illustrated. 12mo. Cloth. $1.50 


Always amusing and ends in a burst of sunshine. — Phil- 
adelphia Ledger. 

Impossible to read without laughing. A sparkling, 
hilarious tale. — Chicago Record-Herald. 

The love story is as wholesome and satisfactory as the 
fun. In its class this book must be accorded the first 
place. — Baltimore Sun. 

The humor is simply delicious. — Albany Times- Union. 

Every one that remembers Susan Clegg will wish also to 
make the acquaintance of Aunt Mary. Her “imperious 
will and impervious eardrums n furnish matter for uproar- 
ious merriment. ... A book to drive away the blues 
and make one well content with the worst weather. — 
Pittsburg Gazette. 

Cheerful, crisp, and bright. The comedy is sweetened 
by a satisfying love tale. — Boston Herald . 


LITTLE, BROWN, & CO., Publishers 
254 Washington Street. Boston 


An International Love Comedy 


A WOMAN’S WILL 


By ANNE WARNER 

Author of “ Susan Clegg and Her Friend Mrs. Lathrop.” 

I T is a relief to take up a volume so absolutely free from 
stressfulness. The love-making is passionate, the 
humor of much of the conversation is thoroughly delightful. 
The book is as refreshing a bit of fiction as one often finds ; 
there is not a dull page in it. — Providence Journal. 

It is bright, charming, and intense as it describes the 
wooing of a young American widow on the European 
Continent by a German musical genius. — San Francisco 
Chronicle . 

A deliciously funny book. — Chicago Tribune. 

There is a laugh on nearly every page. — New York Times. 

Most decidedly an unusual story. The dialogue is nothing 
if not original, and the characters are very unique. There 
is something striking on every page of the book. — Newark 
Advertiser. 

A more vivacious light novel could not be found. — Chicago 
Record-Herald. 

Illustrated by I. H. Caliga. 360 pages. 12mo. 
Decorated cloth, $1.50. 


LITTLE, BROWN, iff CO., Publishers, BOSTON 
At all Booksellers 




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